


strange frontier

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (FOR PLOT REASOOONSSS), Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Dragons, Dubious Astronomy, Dubious Physics, Dubious Science, F/M, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Gen, IN SPACE!, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Leadership, M/M, Military Backstory, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Minor Jon Snow/Ygritte, Minor Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Multi, New Planets, Planet Destruction, Pregnancy, R Plus L Equals J, Refugees, Robb Stark is a Gift, Spaceships, Throbb Secret Santa, alternate title: how many brian may songs are referenced in this fic? PLAY TO FIND OUT, the author's skills at scifi are dubious at best but she tried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “My parents left for Blackwater before war broke out. They thought they could try to mediate things.” He sighs. “They died when Aerys had everyone in the Red Keep murdered just before he bombed Casterly and blew up half of the city. I like to think they’d be proud of what I did of the family heirloom.” He glances at the ceiling, then back down to the ground. “I don’t know. But I tried my best.”“I can see that.” Theon says nothing for the next few minutes, then a hand touches Robb’s wrist tentatively as he gifts Robb one of those small, real smiles of his. “And you’re doing better than you think.”“I’ll let you believe that for the both of us,” Robb smiles back, and thinks that out of everything, he doesn’t regret having picked him, nor having gone back to Harlaw even if he was told he was a waste of time.He really doesn’t.Or: in which Robb Stark has take a hard decision to ensure the survival of his people after five years stranded in outer space, deal with his feelings for his best friend and second in command and try to lead what's left of the people who once lived on Westeros's nine planets to a better life before their resources run out.





	strange frontier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iron_Dragon_Maiden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron_Dragon_Maiden/gifts).



> JSDLGJDKSLJGSLGKDGLK FIRST: RECIPIENT MY DEAR I'M SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE I 100% APOLOGIZE FOR IT I HOPE THE LENGHT MAKES UP FOR IT.
> 
> Second: hi, this is my humble contribution for this year's throbb secret santa exchange @ averythrobbxmas and my prompt was from the lovely iron_dragon_maiden who wanted _Scifi AU. It's been a few years since their world went kaput and they've been on a ship looking for a habitable planet to live in. Theon and Robb as high ranking o£cers in this ship and trying to ¡nd some hope for their people and each other._ I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED BUT HERE YOU GO. Spoilers: I haven't read fire and blood yet so none of the info in that book actually went into this fic, it shows that I've watched too much the 100 in the last few years and mostly it also shows that I'm back into the Queen pit of doom because again, you can totally play the 'guess which Brian May song inspired this specific part of this fic' game here. Sorry not sorry. Also I got the idea while listening to the Roger Taylor solo song I stole the title from, sorry not sorry again. HOPEFULLY THIS ENTIRE THING MAKES SENSE. (I know the science doesn't and the astronomy does even less but be nice to me I never was a science-inclined person.)
> 
> Third: as stated, nothing belongs to me here, the title is from the aforementioned Roger Taylor song, I own just the plot and AGAIN I'M SO SORRY THIS IS LIKE ONE WEEK LATER THAN I SHOULD HAVE POSTED IT ;___; <333 happy late holidays!!!

“Robb, not to be _that_ person, but you’re needed at the meeting point.”

Robb, who had been about to go into the pilot room to discuss another possible route change with Ygritte and Jon, has a feeling he knows what _this_ is about and he doesn’t like it whatsoever, especially considering that it wouldn’t be the first time _this_ specific matter is discussed and he had thought there was no need to go over it any fucking further.

He turns towards his second-in-command, wishing he could meet Theon’s half-grin in other circumstances.

“Is it _still_ about Brienne Tarth? Because I thought we all had agreed on _that_ matter the last two times.”

“It is,” Theon says apologetically, “but Baelish won’t let that go and he’s convinced not only all the Valeans, but a few others here and there.”

“ _Fuck him_ ,” Robb groans. “I imagine Tyrion is trying to talk to them but it’s not working?”

“‘Course it’s not, his opinion is not valid enough on account of being a _relative_.”

“Fuck. _Fuck,_ and fuck.”

“You’re cute when you swear, Stark.”

“Shut up. Okay, let me warn Jon and Ygritte that I’ll be late and I’m coming with. I swear, I’m _ending_ Baelish one of these days.”

He knocks on the door, informs them that he’s been delayed and he’ll be back as soon as possible, and then runs off in the other direction, Theon falling into step behind him.

“Shit, I so didn’t need this, too. Listen, while I handle that arse and his cohorts, can you call up Sam, Gilly, Connington and all the representatives? We need to have a serious meeting after I’m done with them _and_ with Jon and Ygritte later.”

“Sure. Control room in two hours?”

“That’ll do. Thank you, we _really_ need to assess this damned situation before I have to wing it _again_.”

“Hey, you’re great at winging it.”

“How about _no_ ,” Robb groans as they get closer to the ship’s meeting point. He can already see that behind the glass door Baelish is being his usual self, their doctor is about at the end of his rope and the whole lot of Valeans _and_ whoever else Baelish rounded up are standing up filling half of the room and don’t look pleased at all.

Fuck.

“Right. I’m handling this mess. You page the others. I’ll be back in a few, hopefully.”

“Sure thing, captain. You’re gonna need that.”

“Yeah, fuck you, too,” Robb sighs, and then clears his throat as he walks inside the room. “Do we have a _problem_?”

He doesn’t think Tyrion Lannister has ever looked at him so gratefully in his entire life.

Given that it includes the time Robb decided to take both him and his brother on his ship even if it’s their father’s fault that they’re stranded in space in the first place, _well_ , this doesn’t bode well at all. At least the chatter dies down the moment he makes his presence known.

“Mr. Baelish does,” Tyrion says, taking a step back and letting Robb take the stage. Robb can’t blame him, admittedly.

Robb stares down at the man and wishes for the umpteenth time that his parents hadn’t died when, well, _when,_ because if his mother was here like hell he’d be going around undermining the authority of whoever’s in charge at any given moment and trying to make sure _his_ section of the ship gets more resources than the others. He also probably wouldn’t be sending creepy stares his sister’s way even if he knows she’s otherwise occupied. Honestly, Robb has regretted taking him in since the day after he did, but he still grew up with his mother and couldn’t find it in himself to say no, back in the day.

He thinks he could, now.

“Mr. Baelish,” Robb says, making sure he’s keeping his voice high and clear. “I imagine this this about Miss Tarth’s _condition_ , again, and I thought we had discussed that matter plenty.”

“Well,” Baelish says, “that was two months ago.”

“ _And_?”

“Two months ago the shortage of food wasn’t as much of a pressing matter, and the fact that _one_ person is —”

“No, no, let’s cut the bullshit right now. I think you’re skipping a few facts here, which we have rehashed over and over again, but let me refresh your memory. We’ve been on this ship for five years and _you_ were one of the people opposing immediate food rationing from the beginning even if most of us thought it would be a better option to start it right away. On top of that, it’s been _five years_ since Westeros was nuked, and as far as I recall _everyone_ in the beginning was trying to raise our numbers, because given how many of our people _in general_ died, maybe it wasn’t good news if we didn’t even have children on top of that. _No one_ has carried a living baby to term since then bar for Miss Tarth, or well, she hasn’t _yet_ , but it seems like she will. At this point, I would like to remind you that if it wasn’t for her and her skills with this ship’s artillery, we’d have never escaped in the first place, and she’s staunchly refused to eat _regular_ portions until she was six months along because _it wouldn’t have been fair to other people_.” He takes a breath, but Baelish doesn’t try to interrupt him. Good. “Now she’s almost nine months along and I think we all owe it to her to _not_ attempt to kill that poor child before they’re even born. If _she_ only eats two regular portions per day, I don’t think it changes that much overall, and it wouldn’t feed much more people, so how about you stop complaining about _one_ pregnant woman who has done for this ship way more than _you_ ever did eating regular portions when she’s refused them until recently? I can’t waste my time with _this_ anymore.”

“That’s all sounding lovely,” Baelish counters, and _fuck_ , doesn’t he have anything better to do with his life?, “but who grants us that _she_ is the only one getting regular portions and not —”

The more time passes, the more Robb understands _why_ Stannis Baratheon, the Stormlanders’s representative, keeps on grinding his teeth all the time in this kind of situation. “The last time I checked on them, _Jaime_ Lannister was having one of the halved portions we all get _and_ he gave _her_ half of his own. I’m fairly sure he’s lost some weight he can’t afford to lose in the last few months or so. No, _he_ is not getting extra food.”

“Right, right,” someone else from Vale says, oh _fuck_ , Lyn Corbray. Why has _everyone_ who managed to escape from Vale before Tywin Lannister pressed that damned red button turned out being a complete arse? Robb would like to know, but he has a feeling it’s not the kind of question that comes with proper answers. “And _then_? After the baby is born, she will keep on getting regular portions, I suppose, while we’re here starving ourselves? And given how tall she is —”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Robb says, “I’d like to think that if she has to feed that baby maybe halved rations wouldn’t be such a great idea. Corbray, are you hearing yourself?”

“Excuse me if I’m not too big on the concept of giving up food so that Tywin Lannister’s nephew lives,” Corbray mutters, and _of course_ people start agreeing. He glances around — right. Of course other than the usual Valeans, they managed to convince the few people they managed to salvage from Blackwater. Well, they only survived because they weren’t _on_ Blackwater when Aerys Targaryen targeted Casterly Rock with your old regularly napalm bombs _and_ Tywin Lannister decided to reiterate.

“Oh, _excuse me_ if Tywin Lannister fucked himself over along with his own planet and all of ours but I don’t want to blame his _unborn_ nephew for it, especially when you certainly didn’t complain at having both his sons either making sure you didn’t die of radiation poisoning or watching your back, huh? I wouldn’t have taken them in if they hadn’t meant well, they proved it so far, I’m not doing this. Now, if _you_ and your mistress, whoever she is, also conceive, you can be sure I’ll cut in half _my_ own half-portion so that she can get enough food to carry her child to term. Until _then_ , I’m not even reconsidering this specific discussion. _Period._ Are we clear or do we need to go over it again after she delivers?”

 _That_ seems to shut them up — they grumble something in sort-of-agreement, but as they go back to their section of the ship, Robb _knows_ that it’s not over here.

 _Fuck_.

“Well,” Tyrion says after they’re gone, “I’ll commend you for at least trying to defend the family name. Next time you can tell them that they’re giving the baby her name.”

“… What?”

“Jaime is very bent on _ours_ dying with us and I can’t even disagree on it. I tried to tell them but it wouldn’t stick.”

Robb figures that if it was tied to the destruction of an entire planetary system, he would renounce _his_ own surname, too.

“Never mind. We’re good for now, I think.” He checks the time. “I’m holding a meeting with everyone bar _them_ in one hour and a half, control room. Be there.”

“Sure. Wouldn’t miss one of your uplifting meetings for the world.”

As if. There’s nothing _uplifting_ in his meetings. “By the way, how’s your good sister doing?”

“Will bury us all, most likely. But not if she halves her food.”

“I figured. Well, see you later.”

He leaves the room and finds Theon standing outside. “So, how did it go?”

“If Baelish doesn’t stage a mutiny before the month is over I’ll be surprised,” Robb sighs. “I guess I’ll sic the _other_ Lannister on him, just in case.”

“Oh, he has been waiting for the chance to float Baelish for years, I think.”

Robb can’t blame him. He doesn’t like floating people into space _period_ , and they had to do it just a couple of times yet, but Baelish seems to _want_ to make sure he meets that end at some point soon. Never mind that they had to establish that one law after the riot that happened a few months into their escape from Westeros during which twenty people died — they all sat down and wrote a temporary constitution for the time being, and it’s held up until now, but the more time passes the less sure that it _will_ for long he is.

“I’ll be glad to leave him the honor if it comes to it,” he says. “Right. I’ve got to discuss our route with the other two lovebirds. Anything happens, you know where to find me.”

“Sure. Have fun while I hold up the fort.”

“I wish,” Robb smiles in spite of himself, and heads for the pilot room.

There are a lot of things he’s come to regret in the last years, but —

Definitely _not_ giving up on fighting a lost war and trying to salvage as many people as he could before Tywin Lannister and Aerys Targaryen ruined all of their lives instead.

And definitely _not_ insisting to go to the Iron Moons, too, even if he had been discouraged.

 

**

 

_“Robb, they’re too out of the way,” Rickard Karstark protests as Robb explains the plan. “And why should we go to the fucking Iron Moons anyway? What have they ever even done for us except trying to raid our planet and our moons long before the Targaryens came up with the Federation?”_

_Someone in the room grumbles._

_Robb wishes for the umpteenth time his parents were alive._

_Sadly, they’re not._

_“That’s not the bloody fucking point,” Robb shouts before anyone else can try to speak over him as they’ve done for the last half hour. “Listen, I don’t think you all understand the stakes here, so let me go over it again. My father’s last message, which he_ died _to make sure we got, said that Tywin Lannister has used his old nuclear codes which of course no one figured they would change after Aerys forced him to resign and bombed Casterly. He programmed those damned nukes to go off a week from now._ All _the nukes in Blackwater. In a week, this entire system will be a bloody wasteland. Now, Winterfell was built by_ my _family through the last century or so. It’s huge, it can house and feed around four thousand people for at least a few years and we have enough fuel to have it run for that long. But since my parents died and_ I _am in charge here, what to do with it is_ my _decision.” He stops. No one interrupts him. He takes a breath._

_“Now, I don’t have to remind you that thanks to those two half of this planet isn’t salvageable.” He thinks of the entirety of White Harbor’s inhabitants dying because napalm poisoned their water, or how the Dreadfort vanished after being bombed first — not that he misses Roose Bolton and his creepy son, but one of Winterfell’s moons disappearing in a burst of fire just as Robb was flying out of it was enough of a warning. Anyway, in between napalm, more nerve gas and bombs and a nuke that completely destroyed White Arbor… well. Winterfell is a cold planet, and it never was as inhabited as Dorne or Blackwater or Riverrun, but it had some two hundred thousand people on it and another twenty in its moons._

_Now it’s only the seven-hundred-ish or so that took refuge in Winterfell’s presidential residence. “We can take in everyone that’s left here. But we can also try to take in as many people from the rest of this fucking system as we can, and for good and bad, the Iron Moons are in Westeros, too. Now, Gilly?”_

_“Yes?” Their communication technician from Skaagos never fit in that much even if she won that job regularly, but that’s because on this planet, there are a lot of dumb prejudices when it comes to people coming from her moon, and Robb never could give less of a fuck._

_“I need you to send a message to every damned person in charge on the other planets in Westeros. You can send the one for the Iron Moons to Harlaw since Pyke has gone up in flames. Tell them that in the next four days we’ll fly around the system and try to take in as many people as we can handle from both the main seven planets and their moons — we’re not even going close to Blackwater, but that place is beyond salvation. We’re going in order — Skaagos and Castle Black first, Riverrun and Iron Moons second, then Vale, then Highgarten, then Storm’s end and Tarth, then fucking Casterly if anyone’s still alive there, then Dorne. They’d better be ready. And_ then _we’re finding a way to disable the shielding system around this blasted system, or we’re never going to leave.”_

 _Because of_ course _the entirety of Westeros is shielded, thanks to Targaryen technology. Too bad that Aerys has apparently locked those shields so that if they tried to leave they couldn’t._

 _But maybe they can find_ someone _around the system who knows how to override it._

_Gods, he really hopes they do._

_“And if anyone has issues because we hated the Ironborn for centuries and they hated us back or because we thought the Dornians were assholes for how much they made us pay for their wine, well, best leave them behind, because we cannot afford to put_ that _over our only chance at survival. Clear?”_

_He apparently was; no one protests._

_Good._

_“Gilly? Send that message. We need to board the ship and leave here before the next twenty-four hours.”_

_It takes around three days to travel through the entire system. If they take one day to gather their things and get ready, it should be more than enough._

_Robb certainly hopes so._

_He also hopes those two assholes in Valyria’s Landing have murdered themselves before doing any more damage than they have already, but he can’t be sure of that, not when all radio communication died along with his parents and everyone else Lannister and Aerys killed._

_He can’t believe eight planets, twenty moons and millions of people will be gone forever in a week because their federation president went mad and his vice along with him, but it’s not as if he can do much about it… except doing damage control, right?_

_Right._

_Well, he fucking will._

 

**

 

Two hours later, he’s at standing at the round table in the control room. Theon’s next to him on the right, Jon and Ygritte are sitting at his right side, Jon Connington on the left, Sam Tarly is standing on his left looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Around the table are all the representatives of the people he took in from the other planets in the now-gone Westeros system:,Stannis Baratheon for the Stormlanders along with his second, Davos Seaworth, then there’s Theon’s sister Asha for the Ironborn, Oberyn Martell for the Dornish, his own great-uncle Brynden for the Riverlanders, Tyrion Lannister for the few Westerlanders they have on board and Garlan Tyrell for Highgarten. At least _he_ is also his own spokesperson and he doesn’t have to deal with any grumbles from his own Northern fellows, but then again, they know they’re only alive in the numbers they have because _he_ of course collected more people from his own planet and moons before sailing for the others, so no one tends to question his decisions.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” he sighs, “I haven’t told the Valeans and the crownlanders about this meeting on account of what went down this morning, but I need to talk to _you_ because we might be at a point where it’s… well, question of taking important decisions.”

“No one blames you if you didn’t invite Baelish,” Oberyn says, “especially after that charade. Does he think that Brienne getting extra rations will kill us all? Please.”

“If only everyone was like you,” Robb replies. “Anyway, we have a couple main issues to address here. One, the status of the food reserves. Two, our current route.”

“Start with the food reserves,” Asha says, “I have a feeling it’s going to be bad news regardless.”

“Sadly,” Robb confirms. “Mr. Tarly.” He turns towards Jon’s best friend from military service — they were together on Castle Black, but Sam had immediately gone into research because he was way more gifted for science than combat, and he has been in charge of the food rations and of their greenhouse along with Professor Luwin, one of the few scientists they managed to save from the Citadel, Highgarten’s moon where most universities in Westeros used to be. “Please explain the situation.”

“Hm,” Sam clears his throat. “Well, there’s no nice way to put it. At _this_ rate, as in, eating our usual portions, we can have sufficient nutritional value with enough varied food to avoid anyone getting sick for about… three or four months. Sadly the greenhouse is old and the technology is what it is, it can’t produce more than it has for now, and it could do with an upgrade or ten. That’s not counting the shortage of seeds and the fact that our reserves of meat-based protein are about to finish and we cannot certainly farm on here.”

“At _this_ rate?” Seaworth asks.

“If we ration _somewhat_ more,” Sam says, “we could stretch it to six months. I mean, right now everyone bar children and the elderly, and not _all_ of them, are getting half of the recommended ration we used to have before we decided to cut back on it. If we get down to all of us eating one third rather than half _and_ put also children and old people on two-thirds rather than full, we _can_ manage six. It wouldn’t buy us much more time to produce extra food, but it could be a solution. Still, it doesn’t look great.”

“I see,” Seaworth says.

“There’s really not much more to say about _this_ matter,” Robb says. “And I would call a vote on it, but we need to talk about the routes first.”

“What’s the poison?” Stannis asks. Robb appreciates that he doesn’t sugarcoat things.

“Jon, Ygritte.” He motions for them to stand up. “Feel free to dish it out.”

Jon nods as he stands up, turns off the lights and pushes a few buttons in front of him — a map of the sector they’re sailing in right now appears over Robb’s head, a pulsing red dot in the middle symbolizing their ship.

“Right,” Ygritte says, “as we all know, our main issue is that — well, Westeros was a self-sustaining system _and_ the only one where life was sustainable in the span of some twenty light-years, as far as we knew before the war and the Citadel astronomers had established. As it is, for now we chose the routes that granted more chances of running into a habitable planet regardless of what we previously knew, and it hasn’t worked, since there’s no planet to be found around here. We compared our maps with what Luwin knew and salvaged from Pycelle’s research and so on, but given where we are _now_ …” She shakes her head. “Thing is, we traveled as far as the edge of our local interstellar cloud because Westeros was _really_ close to the edge and we have nothing. And we have some four months _at most_ to find somewhere to live, or we’re fucked.”

“Wow,” Tyrion says, “you don’t mince things around, do you?”

“No,” Ygritte says. “And at this point — well. We have two options. Either we go along the previous route and try to see if we can find habitable systems in the next interstellar cloud by going into hyperdrive and burning off half of our remaining fuel in one go, or — well, Jon, _the both of you_ , I think it’s your moment now.”

“Right,” Jon Connington says. “I guess I should start. So, this is obviously one… very long shot, but. When we were kids, I hung out at Rhaegar’s place often enough.”

Jon’s face grimaces at the mention of his biological father — they never met, but he has reasons enough to loathe him, Robb figures. Considering that he ran off on a mission outside Westeros with Robb’s aunt Lyanna just after he was born and they never came back, this after leaving behind a wife and two children who died when the war broke out. He met Robb’s aunt at a conference in the Citadel — they were both scientists, very eager to explore what was beyond Westeros, they hit off… and they did. Even too much. Jon grew up with them because the Targaryen side of the family didn’t want anything to do with him.

On his side, Connington pretty much grew up with Rhaegar because they were in the same boarding school on the citadel, except that then he went into engineering rather than pure astronomy. And everyone knows that the man was in love with him and always had been but never said a word about it.

“And — you know that there was that legend about how Targaryens were actually… from Valyria.”

“Connington,” Stannis interrupts, “I only have respect for you, but are you aware that it’s been a _story_ for centuries? Most likely it doesn’t even exist. And I guess that Rhaegar might have found hilarious all those fake-historical tv shows about how Targaryens were aliens or descendants of aliens, but —”

“I _know_ ,” he keeps on, “but maybe not so much.”

“ _Not so much_?” Oberyn asks. “Are you saying —”

“Just before Rhaegar went off to space with Lyanna, he left me this box full of books that were apparently family heirlooms making me swear I’d give them to _him_.” He nods towards Jon — Robb’s brother. “I did, and I didn’t even open that box because he never said I _could_.”

“I didn’t even open it until recently,” Jon says. “I just — never mind. Long story. But I did a while ago figuring that it was no point postponing it if I cared to bring those books with. And — there was one of them. It was… fairly old, and — it actually discussed Valyria in scientific terms.”

“It _did_?” Tyrion asks, sounding immediately intrigued.

“Yes. Apparently some other relative of — my biological father’s, Baelor Targaryen, was at the Citadel a few centuries ago. And he really wanted to make sure it wasn’t all some kind of story. He spent his entire life doing calculations and so on, and from what I gather he went blind near the end for all the time he spent looking at stars without, well, proper lenses and so on. And he had a theory.”

“Go ahead,” Oberyn presses.

“According to him, Valyria is a real planet that Targaryen ancestors came from centuries ago and which has to be, of course, habitable also for _us_ , since they found the planets in Westeros also livable. He couldn’t figure out _how_ , though, since even if they had fairly advanced research systems even then, as stated, we never located a livable planet in our immediate vicinities. _However_ ,” Jon goes on, “he located what seemed like — some kind of weird gravitational pull that shouldn’t have been there, which according to him might have been some kind of black hole that didn’t work exactly as its kind does. According to him, there’s a high chance that it’s some unique case of — allowing matter to be transported from one side to the other rather than just being swallowed inside it.”

“Like some kind of portal?” Seaworth asks.

“Pretty much,” Jon confirms. “His theory is that some of those Valyrians sailed from their planet to explore space and ended up in that… portal by accident, and couldn’t find the way back, so they just went forward for a few years until they ended up in Westeros and established themselves on Blackwater. Of course, that might all amount to nothing, but the problem is… well. I translated those calculations into actual coordinates.” He punches a few more buttons and suddenly an area on the map starts burning bright pink.

Everyone can see that it’s about two weeks of navigation from where they are right now.

“ _That_ is where your portal could be?” Asha asks.

“Yeah,” Jon says. “I mean, it should be in _that_ area. It does add up with the data, because if you arrived _there_ , Westeros would have been just straight ahead, if they avoided all disturbances. Now, the important thing is that — well. If he was right, and if nothing changed since then, and if everything adds up, that portal should work in both directions. Which means that _if_ we went through and it worked, we _might_ end up… well, on the other side of the galaxy or wherever, and most likely in Valyria’s immediate vicinities.”

“I can hear that there’s a _but_ in there, on top of the _if_ s,” Garlan Tyrell says, breaking the silence that falls inside the room after Jon stops speaking.

“There is,” Ygritte says. “Well, there are _two_ buts. The first one is that we don’t _know_ if Valyria is in the immediate vicinities — that’s what our man Baelor said, but while the rest of his data is solid science, that’s what he cobbled together comparing a hundred different legends and bogus history on the topic, so it might be that even if we get there, we might not get there immediately. And the second is that we don’t know how much fuel we would burn by jumping through that portal. Maybe a little, maybe a _lot_ , but that’s up in the air. _That said_ , it’s still a better bet than burning half of it by going into hyperdrive and then burning the second half flying aimlessly around a cloud we have no knowledge of.”

Everyone around the table nods, and none of them looks too happy.

Robb clears his throat again. “So, the point is: we need to decide where to go because tomorrow we’re approaching to the point where we should change route _if_ we attempt to reach Valyria. I realize that not asking _all_ of the people on this ship is hardly democratic, but I’m afraid that telling straight that our resources are dwindling and we might have to ration more food will end up in a riot and at that point we’d all be fucked regardless. And they _did_ elect us all as representatives also to take these decisions, so — if we could vote on this _now_ , that would be preferable.”

“Believe me,” Tyrion says, “I can _entirely_ believe why you don’t want to put this to the vote with the entire ship being present, it would end in a bloodbath.”

“But what do we _know_ about Valyria?” Garlan Tyrell asks. “I mean, I suppose it’s habitable, but other than that?”

Jon Connington clears his throat. “Not much, but from that book, if you cross it with all the bogus history Ygritte was mentioning before, it _seems_ like it might have been slightly bigger than Riverrun, which would make it… not _very_ big, and it adds up with some of those stories saying those Valyrians left in order to find bigger places for their people to live in, but given how many of us are on the ship, it would be more than enough.”

“Actually,” Robb says, “Sam, can you just go through how many people are left again? So that we have the numbers under our eyes.”

“Of course. It’s six hundred and fifty from Winterfell, not including another one hundred and twenty from Skaagos and Castle Black, then four hundred and three from Dorne, forty-five from Casterly Rock — forty-six if Miss Tarth’s pregnancy goes over well, I suppose. Then, three hundred-sixty from the Reach, two hundred sixty-eight from Riverrun, eighty from the Iron Moons, a hundred from Blackwater, two hundred square from the Vale, two hundred and ninety six from the Stormlands. Total, two thousand, five hundred and twenty-two people.”

Robb thinks that once Westeros as a whole had at _least_ thirty-million inhabitants. Of course, it was smaller planets all connected, but still.

Thirty million.

Now they’re fucking _below_ survival limits, regardless of how one looks at it, and in five years they had some four hundred deaths and _no_ births unless Brienne carries hers to term, and _one_ baby won’t be what saves them all.

“Well,” his great-uncle says, “Riverrun was large enough for three millions of us. I _think_ that if this Valyria exists and has the same dimensions, we’d be more than comfortable.”

“So,” Oberyn asks, “you’re voting to see if those mythical Valyrian dragons are real?”

“Maybe, but in all honesty, what do we have to lose? We wandered aimlessly until now, if we don’t give it a try either we have the best stroke of luck in the galaxy or we’re fucked. At this point we might as well try. I imagine producing more fuel is out of discussion?”

Jon Connington shakes his head. “Not a chance. Sorry.”

“I figured. Well, I vote for the dragons. I mean, if I have to starve while flying aimlessly around the galaxy, I’d rather starve while flying _not_ aimlessly.”

“Point taken. Oberyn?”

“Count me in for the dragons. Also because if we get to the portal in two weeks we’d just shorten this agony and we wouldn’t need to risk a riot.”

“And it’s two for Valyria. Tyrion?”

“My vote’s not worth half as theirs,” he says, “given how little of us survived, but of course I vote for the dragons. Scientifically, that’d be a tad more interesting and as your uncle said, I’d rather risk dying going through the portal than starve in space.”

“Three down. Asha?”

“Count me for Valyria, too. One has to take some risks once in a while.”

“Garlan?”

“I think we’re seeing where the tide is going. I’m not that convinced, but starving in space without a plan is even less convincing, so I’m with everyone else.”

“Five. Stannis?”

“What choice do we even have? It’s bad odds regardless, at least Valyria has _some_ of them.”

“Six,” Robb says. “I’m also for Valyria, so it would be seven. The Valeans can just go along with the rest of us.”

“Yeah, as if Baelish’s opinion counts for shit,” Oberyn groans.

“Right. Then — Jon, Ygritte, head for Valyria tomorrow.”

“Are you going to, you know, _inform_ everyone else?” Theon asks.

“When we get there,” Robb says. “Like hell I’m doing it _now_. Not after today. Also — feel free to share the news with your relatives and what else, but _please_ don’t tell people at large. The last thing we need is people panicking over this. Actually — Sam, if it takes us two weeks to go to the portal, does it mean we can make those portions larger so that people stop planning child murder?”

“I suppose so,” Sam says. “But if _then_ Valyria isn’t immediately reachable, full portions —”

“Right. No, not the full ones, just… three quarters rather than half, I guess.”

“I suppose it can be done,” Sam says. “It’s a risk, but if you want to keep the Valeans calm maybe it can’t hurt. I mean, if we all die going through the portal does it even matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Gilly agrees. “I think Robb’s right.”

“Right. Then please feel free to inform everyone that the rations are becoming bigger from tomorrow. We can reconvene in one week, I’ll let you know when.”

Everyone else nods and they stand up — Stannis, Garlan, Tyrion, Asha and Davos leave at once, while his uncle, Theon, both Jons, Sam and Ygritte stay behind.

“Not that I don’t agree with the course of action,” his great-uncle asks, “but do we know if the ship can stand passing through portals and whatnot, never mind the rest?”

Robb shrugs. “No, but if the Valyrians could… this one survived five years with more than one thousand people inside it, I’ll just have to believe it for my own peace of mind.”

“Fair,” he replies. “Well, I’ll go check on your uncle and Roslin. Are you all coming for dinner?”

“Of course,” Robb says. “See you later.”

He leaves, and Jon and Ygritte excuse themselves saying that they’ll see him at dinner, and of course they’re doing it — given that they asked Robb to _marry_ them a few weeks ago, of course they don’t want to be here longer than they have to.

He takes another ten minutes to go through possible technical issues they might want to deal with before trying to jump inside that kind of portal with both Sam and Jon Connington and then lets them leave, too — he has held everyone up entirely too long for the day.

“You know,” Theon tells him, “you _could_ take some rest once in a while. When was the last time you slept ten hours in a row?”

Robb laughs. “Very funny, Theon. When was the last time _you_ did?”

“Two weeks ago, actually.”

“The anniversary of the day we all left the system and saved our asses at it went up in fucking nuclear flames where _no one_ does a thing doesn’t count.”

“ _You_ didn’t sleep on that day either.”

“Fine, _fine_ , point taken. But what else can I do? I mean, I got myself into this mess all on my own and I would re-do it all over again, but that doesn’t mean I can delegate responsibilities to _too many_ other people. Especially given how things are looking here.”

“Hey, if Baelish is an asshole —”

“Theon, he’s been like _that_ since I told him there was no way in Hell I was going to consider him marrying my _sister_ because according to him _my mother_ agreed to it, which I wouldn’t believe even if I saw it happen. Never mind that she’s otherwise occupied.”

“I’ll take you on your word, but from what you told me, she doesn’t sound like the type.”

“That’s because she _wouldn’t_ have,” Robb shakes his head. “Anyway, he wants me gone and I know it. The sooner we end this the better, regardless of _how_.”

“Hey,” Theon says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve kept this entire circus together way better than anyone else could have. And you just did the right thing, I guess.”

Robb forces himself to smile, his hand covering Theon’s — it’s not _obvious_ enough that he might guess, _well_ , what he hasn’t guessed in the last few years, but better like this. Given the current situation, the last thing he wants is going to his possible death after ruining their friendship because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about his feelings.

“Thanks, I knew there was a reason I made you second in command.”

“What, my dashing looks?”

“I was thinking your pep talks, but we can discuss _that_ , too.” He takes a breath. “Listen, you heard before, I’m having dinner at my uncle’s. Sansa was going to bake with the last month’s worth of rations for all of us, maybe it’ll cheer Roslin up.” His uncle’s wife hasn’t really been the happiest after her third miscarriage. Robb is starting to think that the people who lived nearer Blackwater might have been damaged permanently by all of that radiation, not that it’s gone much better for anyone else. “Do you want to come?”

“And pass on your sister’s cakes when they happen once in a blue moon at this point? Not a chance. Sure, see you tonight then.”

He squeezes Robb’s shoulder again and leaves, saying that he’ll see them in two hours.

Right. Time to do the last check up of the day, _then_ he can go home — what passes for it these days —, then he can take a shower and change into more comfortable clothes, _then_ he can have dinner.

Two weeks. He only has two weeks to hold up the fort.

He can do it, or so he tells himself.

 

**

 

_Pyke was a ruin, as they had known already._

_Before going to Harlaw, they managed to save a few people from Old Wyck and Great Wyck. Saltcliffe was a wasteland, same as Orkmont._

_Turns out, most people had fled to Blacktyde because it’s the farthest moon from Casterly Rock, but it wasn’t many of them that had lived._

_Asha Greyjoy, who isn’t as much of an idiot as her father (who actually_ did _try to counterattack when Lannister bombed them, bad idea), immediately accepts Robb’s meager conditions, it’s not as if she has that many people to save anyway._

 _“Listen,” she asks him, “I — I know we’re on borrowed time, but — there are_ some _people on Harlaw. Among which my brother. He never had a good relationship with our father, so he went there to stay with our mother after she had a bad breakdown, and of course now communications are dead and I’m fairly sure that they breathed in half of that toxic crap they bombed Pyke with. But — could you consider spending an hour to check for them? I just — I don’t think Mother could have survived, nor my uncle, but everyone else in the family is dead, and —”_

 _Robb, who has_ some _experience with people who don’t want to immediately show vulnerability but are forced to, spares her the rest._

_“All right. I’ll go on my own, we do have a few smaller ships that can detach from the main one.”_

_“What — are you sure?”_

_“It can’t hold too many people, but it’ll take me hours instead of moving the whole thing over to Harlaw while they move on to Casterly. I’m not guaranteeing you anything —”_

_“No, of course. Thank you,” she had said, looking like she was about to cry._

_Robb had warned Jon, taken one of the smaller ships and flown to Harlaw._

_Now he’s flying over the place, and — yeah. Asha was right. The entire damned island was bombed, and he only sees people about to die or already dead as he flies low. He doesn’t stop to pick anyone up — those bombs were nerve gas and Lannister never held back any money when it came to financing warfare, and he can’t afford to pick anyone who is going to die within a couple of days, not when they don’t even have a proper medic on board._

_Asha told him that her uncle lived by their moon’s small sea, not in the main city. He heads there, seeing only more dead people along the way, until he finally gets to the coordinates she had given him._

_Someone wrote a larger HELP sign on the shore, with stones._

_He glides towards the only large house in the area —_

_And there’s someone on the roof._

_He turns on the speakers he has on the outside of the ship before coming any closer._

_“Theon Greyjoy?” He asks._

_“How the hell do you know who I am?” The person replies. Right. He can’t see his face properly, not from his current vantage point, but good enough._

_“Your sister sent me,” he says. “I’m Robb Stark.”_

_“Wait, the northern guy who’s trying to gather people and leave the system?”_

_“I see my announcement reached you. Yes. We rescued your sister and some others from Blacktyde and she asked me to come find you. I imagine your relatives —”_

_“All dead,” Theon says before he can finish._

_Robb should ask him if he’s doing all right or if he’s sick, but — fuck that. He hasn’t asked it of anyone else who_ looked _healthy when he picked them up, and he doesn’t_ look _sick from here._

_“I’m coming over and opening the hatch underneath the ship,” Robb says as he steers towards the roof. “Jump in. This was already a detour and I want to get back to the main ship before we head for Casterly.”_

_He turns off the speakers, goes into position, opens the hatch — the moment he knows Theon has jumped on the ladder that allows people to embark and disembark the ship comfortably, he closes the hatch, then puts the ship back on autopilot after punching in a command to go back to Winterfell, and then he stands up as Theon Greyjoy comes up from the hatch._

_He definitely needs ten showers — he reeks of dust and his hair is dirty and his clothes are mismatched, but as he takes off a mask he had on the lower half of his face (smart move, given what they have been breathing since Lannister bombed them), Robb can’t help thinking that after then, he’d look breathtaking, with those dark, large eyes with long eyelashes, long black hair and a face that looks out of one of those beautiful paintings in Highgarden’s museums that will most likely be lost forever within the next few days._

_“Well,” Theon says, “I thought I’d be joining them soon, Robb Stark, so I’m_ very _pleased to make your acquaintance.”_

_“Likewise,” Robb mutters, shaking the man’s hand and showing him the only other copilot seat in the cockpit. “Please sit down, we should be back on Winterfell in two hours.”_

_“Your planet?”_

_“No, my ship. We called it like the planet,” he sighs. “My grandfather did. Anyway, that’s not the point. We salvaged some two hundred people from Blacktyde including your sister. I’m afraid —”_

_“My uncles and father weren’t there? Good riddance. They went and_ tried to bomb Lannister back instead of waiting for you _, of course he annihilated them along with Pyke. Anyway, my father never put too many stakes on me because I’ve never been good at, you know, the family business.”_

_“What, robbing spaceships?”_

_“… Pretty much. But I’m a pretty good shot and I helped my uncle run things on Harlaw.”_

_Right. His uncle was the moon’s mayor, after all._

_“I can help out. It would be the least, given that you came all the way for —”_

_“It’s fine,” Robb says. “And I think we can use anyone, don’t worry.”_

_“Good — good to hear,” Theon says, smiling ever so slightly._

_For a moment, Robb thinks,_ now I’d like to see him smiling for real.

_Then he shuts that traitorous thought up. He has another six planets or so to visit._

_He can worry about how much he finds Theon Greyjoy attractive when they’re far, far away from Westeros._

 

**

 

“Jaime, it’s me. Can I come in?”

A moment later, the door unlocks and Robb is let inside the small room half of his security detail shares — and good thing that they came with and that he let them on, because Jaime giving him his father’s codes to disable the shields _and_ Brienne taking hold of the ship’s weapon system and making sure they weren’t gunned down by anyone in Valyria’s landing were the only reasons they actually _could_ escape in the first place.

Brienne is sitting on one of the chairs, wearing clothes that he’s sure belong to Sandor Clegane, the third part of the security detail, and he has that feeling just because he’s the only person on this ship who wears clothing that’d be large on _her_ , and it’s obvious that it’ll be days at most before that baby is born. Jaime Lannister stands up from her side, his remaining left hand moving from her stomach as he does.

“Stark,” he says. “How can I be of help?”

“You can’t,” he says, “this is a social visit. Sort of. Brienne, how are you doing?”

“Good,” she says, “even if I sure as hell hope it’s over soon. If I stop having cravings for strawberries I know I _can’t_ have, that would be great.”

“Sorry,” Robb says, “but good to know. I trust the baby’s healthy?”

“Given how hard they kick, most likely.” She _does_ sound fond as she says it, though. And Lannister is looking even more glowing than _she_ is, which… well, knowing where he comes from, is probably understandable. Robb _really_ hopes at least this one thing goes over well for the both of them.

“And why is it _sort of_ a social visit?” Lannister asks.

Robb sighs. “Listen, the last thing I want is giving you two more drama to worry about, but Baelish has come protesting about the rations again.”

“ _What_?” Jaime groans. “Seriously?”

“Robb,” Brienne says, “if it’s a problem, I can —”

“Brienne, _you_ can’t and don’t assume I don’t know that Jaime here gives you also half of his half. I just wanted you two to know — if he tries to do something, you could both off him in your sleep, I think, but better safe than sorry. Other than that — have you seen your brother this afternoon?”

“Tyrion?” Jaime asks. “No, I haven’t. He said he was going to drop by later. Why?”

“Well, I guess I could tell you myself at this point. We discussed options,” Robb says. “And tomorrow we’re switching course.” He explains them the plan, hating how tired he sounds. “So, two weeks from now we’re most likely jumping into some kind of portal that _might_ hopefully bring us to a habitable planet. If everything goes right. If it doesn’t, I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, but I figured you two should know, also because I doubt we’d have ever gotten out of the bloody system if you hadn’t been there. So — that’s it. Watch your backs, meanwhile.”

Brienne gives him a terse nod, her hands curled around her waist. “I get it. Don’t worry, I could handle Baelish while delivering.”

“You _could_ but you’ll do no such thing, you can leave that arse to me,” Jaime says, and — right. They’re both _definitely_ on alert, Robb can be sure of it. “Then I’ll leave you alone, you probably don’t need me here spoiling your last few days of not being a trio.”

“ _Hilarious_ , Stark,” Jaime says. “I’m sure our neighbors will know exactly how much we’re enjoying them.”

“Yeah, well. I’m upping the food rations for the last two weeks. Don’t starve yourself, all right?”

“I’m not —”

They’re on the door now, and Robb considers not saying it, but — fuck that. He lowers his voice — hopefully Brienne won’t hear it.

“Jaime,” he whispers, “ _please_. Your brother told me a few things, you told me a few others, I _know_ how you ended up defecting with your father’s codes, I know how you and her met, I know more than I ever wanted to know about your father’s shitty parenting and I know that your sister’s stance about the war was that your family should just nuke every damned planet bar Casterly, Riverrun and Dorne, and just for the resources. I also know why you might _really_ want to father that kid and while I absolutely commend your enthusiasm, if you’re half-starved when they’re born, it won’t help anyone. _Eat_ your damned food, all right?”

Jaime has the decency to not press the issue. “I’ll forever be amused by how you care way more than my fucking father might have,” he sighs. “Fine, I will. Don’t worry, I plan to be around while they grow up, but thanks nonetheless.”

“You’re welcome. If you two need anything — _especially_ a midwife —, just let me know.”

Jaime nods and Robb has a feeling that conversation is over. He leaves the room, hearing the lock close behind him — good, they _should_ lock it — and heads back to his own sector.

It’s been a fucking long day and it’ll be another two fucking long weeks, and he thinks he’s really looking forward to Sansa’s lemoncakes, especially when he knows that there’s a very, very high chance that this is the last time he gets to eat them.

 

**

 

_Robb hasn’t seen Brienne Tarth in years, when she was transferred from his mother’s unit to Valyria’s Landing’s, but he remembers her being an extremely competent member of the force, and since she kept on exchanging letters with Catelyn Stark, he knew she had ended up in the military and specifically in the Federation’s security detail._

_Given that now she’s showed up on Casterly along with Tywin Lannister’s_ two _sons, who everyone had figured had died when Aerys Targaryen blew up his own bloody planet, this is not how he had expected to see her again._

_But he can imagine why she had asked him a private talk far from the ship._

_The four of them are standing in the middle of a street filled with dust, scarves tied over their mouths. Breathing Casterly’s air, right now, is_ not _a good idea._

 _“Brienne,” he says, “you_ do _know people will protest.”_

_“You haven’t refused,” she says. “And I know they will, but — they had nothing to do with it.” He can barely hear her given how low she’s speaking._

_“Stark,” Tyrion Lannister says, “I know that you have no reason to take us in. And while I can’t say I tried to convince my father to, well,_ not _use those codes, he’d have probably murdered me in cold blood if I had. But — I spent years on the Citadel. I was the best in my class and apparently I was the best in the last twenty years of it. And I’m told you don’t have any doctors on that ship yet.”_

 _“I don’t,” Robb admits, “and I could certainly use you. Maybe I could find a way to make people accept it.” He looks at Jaime, who has kept his mouth shut until now. Strange, given how it went the few other times they ran into each other in the past. “But as far as_ your brother _is concerned, I’ll need something. Listen, if it was up to me I’d take in anyone healthy, but what news we had on Winterfell said that_ you _had something to do with — this. I can’t if —”_

 _“Stark,” Jaime interrupts, “I had nothing to do with_ that _. It was my sister who did.” He shakes his head. “It’s a long story and I don’t have the time for it now, but I did try to stop it.” He looks down and shows Robb his right arm._

_There’s no hand attached to it anymore._

_“And that’s what I got in exchange. Still, I was in Aerys’s security detail for years and I had access to most of the classified material my father has access to.”_

_Robb thinks he knows what he’s aiming at here._

_“You mean that —”_

_“If you want to leave the system,” Lannister croaks, “you’ll need to disable the shields. I have the codes. Well, I_ remember _the codes. And in case they changed, I know how to access the system operating them even from different ships. I’m entirely fine with sharing them with you and to help you out with anything I possibly could, if you take us both with you. I mean, I’d say all three of us, but I know you’d take Brienne anyway.”_

_Her hand suddenly finds his own._

_Oh._

_Robb thinks he wants to know more about how_ that _happened, but it’s not the time or place, and if Lannister knows how to disable the shields, well, it’s their most pressing issue right now since if no one can, they cannot leave the system and they’d end up dying of radiation poisoning the moment those bombs are launched._

_“Okay,” he says.”_

_“Wait,_ what _?”_

_“Are you deaf now, Lannister? You’ve got a ride. I’ll find some way to make sure people don’t murder the both of you. Now get to the damned ship already, I don’t want to be here longer than I need to.”_

_If anything, both of them have good survival instinct — they immediately nod and fall into step in front of him._

_“Thank you,” Brienne whispers as they leave. “I know you will get shit for it.”_

_“If they help us get out of here, I don’t care,” Robb says._

_And he wholly, truly means it for that matter._

 

**

 

“You look like _shit_ ,” Rickon tells him the moment he walks into the (large, at least) room he shares with his brothers — Arya has been bunking in with Gendry Waters for a couple years now and sometimes he thinks, _wouldn’t Dad have approved of that_ , and then he stops going there because he can’t afford to shed any more tears on his father now.

Sansa also used to bunk with them but hasn’t since Sandor Clegane got a position into the security detail by stopping the one riot they had in five years, just after they had finally gotten rid of the last drones. People protested because they were scared and some assholes took advantage of it, someone had managed to grab her in the middle of that mess and to drag her to the bridge, but Clegane had followed them and saved her from anything worse than her clothes being torn off, and while he misses having them around in the evening, he’s glad they found some happiness in this blasted situation.

“Thank you,” Robb deadpans, “now tell me something I don’t know.”

“You should tell _us_ something we don’t know,” Bran says, and — _what_?

“As in?”

“Theon dropped by before saying we should rejoice because we’re getting more food from tonight onward and I _know_ that we’re in shortage. You decided to try for Valyria, haven’t you?”

Robb had hoped they wouldn’t figure him out _this_ soon, damn it.

“Yes,” he admits, figuring that there’s no point in delaying the inevitable. “I figured going at it quick and dirty was going to be less potentially disastrous than roaming around space without being sure of where we were going.”

“Can’t blame you there.” Bran lets out a nervous chuckle. “Of course you had to do it just after Meera asked me if I want to _take a stroll on the bridge_ tomorrow, huh?”

What — _oh_. Taking a stroll on the bridge has become codename for _going on dates in this godforsaken ship_ — the bridge is the only part where there’s a modicum of privacy because that part of the ship is older, not that large and it takes some effort to get there. And Robb has been sure for years that his brother and Meera Reed were making eyes at each other.

“Well, who’s stopping you? You have two weeks to take all the strolls you want, then we’re jumping into a possible black hole and hoping to come out _somewhere_. I’d make good use of my time, if I were you.”

Bran goes red in the face as he splutters something about _too much information_ , as if _he_ wasn’t the one going on dates.

“Fine,” Rickon says, “I told him ten times so it’s not that I disagree, but are you going to _take strolls_ with Theon at some point before we risk our inevitable demise or not?”

No fourteen-year old should be like _this_ , Robb thinks, and he doesn’t know if he means more the supposed inevitable demise or encouraging Robb to _date people_.

“He’s not interested,” Robb cuts him. “I _know_ he’s not.”

“… Based on _what_ exactly?” Rickon presses.

“Oh, maybe that in the last five years he’s been with some ten different _girls_? Come on, I’m not blind.”

“Half of which were redheads,” Bran mutters.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Just stating the truth, Robb. And — listen, he can be an ass more times than I care for, but he _has_ watched your back all this time, and you’ve been pining after him since you rescued him from what was left of Harlaw, so maybe you _could_ give it a try. I know it, Rickon knows it, Sansa knows it, Arya knows it and Jon has been despairing over the both of you getting your shit together for I don’t know how many light years at this point, so how about you consider it?”

Robb feels _tired_. “It’s not that easy and you know that people gave me shit already for wanting him as _the second in command_ , never mind more than that. I can’t —”

“Blah, blah, blah, _excuses_ ,” Rickon interrupts him. “Just get your shit together, no one deserves to risk death when not getting any in the last five years.”

Robb is fairly sure that now _he_ is redder than his own hair. “And what do you even _know_ about the subject?”

Rickon gives him a _look_ that says, _I pity you and very, very deeply_.

“I’m not _five_ and Wylla Manderly isn’t either.”

“Okay,” Robb interrupts him — he’s known that girl since she was fucking _born_ , maybe it’s better if they drop it now, “that was _definitely_ too much information and while I’m not telling you what to _not_ do, I hereby forbid you to mention me anything you and Wylla Manderly might be doing in your spare time. Have _pity_ on me.”

“Fair, but if I were you I wouldn’t want to _risk death_ knowing my little brother got laid more than _I_ did in the last five years.”

Bran bursts out laughing and Robb just hopes they both drop the damned subject.

Still —

Still, if he looks at them, at least he remembers all the reasons why he doesn’t regret having bailed out of Winterfell instead of trying to organize a resistance after his parents died, not that they actually had any suited weapons to even counterattack.

No, he doesn’t regret it at all.

He shakes his head and goes into the shower. If anything, he’s not showing up to dinner reeking of sweat.

——

Even with one month’s worth of rations, Sansa’s only managed seven lemon cakes — they split six in half so they can give Roslin a full one. She smiles at them with sad eyes as she accepts it, but no one begrudges her that, not when she’s lost _three_ children already.

“So,” Arya asks as each of them takes their share, “we’re really heading for Valyria?”

“We have to try,” Robb sighs, acutely feeling Theon’s presence next to him. “I can’t bet on finding a livable system or planet in completely unchartered void.”

“At least if it’s all true my damned _father_ will have done something good for everyone else,” Jon mutters. No one tells him that it might have sounded plenty ungrateful.

“Not that I disagree with the notion,” Sandor Clegane rasps from his sister’s side, not sounding too optimistic, “but have you taken into account that if people are there already they might not want us?”

Robb _had_ taken that into account. “Yes,” he says, “but we — aren’t even two thousand people. I need to hope they’ll be reasonable. For that matter, since _their_ ancestors settled where _we_ lived, we could point out it would be returning favors.”

“Fair,” Clegane says. “Sure as fuck I hope Tarth has her baby _before_ we get there in case they aren’t up for diplomacy.”

Everyone lets out a nervous laugh — of course he’d hope for that. That woman could handle an entire platoon on her own. Still, Robb would hate asking her to get immediately back into the job just after her pregnancy’s end.

Honestly, he’s just hoping things turn out right _for once_.

“Don’t be all doom and gloom,” Theon says, sporting a grin that’s so fake Robb could cringe. “At most we can sic my sister on them, _that_ would shame anyone into accepting.”

… That’s also a fair suggestion, Robb decides. Sure as hell Asha Greyjoy is _not_ the kind of person who’d give up a chance of punching her way out of botched diplomacy.

“Well,” he sighs, “I’m more worried about Baelish than about any Valyrians that might not want to give us some island on which we could lick our wounds, to be entirely honest.”

At _that_ , everyone goes silent as they munch slowly on the lemoncakes. They’re delicious, as usual. Maybe he should have waited to say it and not have risked ruining the atmosphere.

“I heard,” Clegane says. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go and scare him into quitting with his bullshit?”

“I wish,” Robb says, “but I just would like it better if we could all get along nicely. Of course, the moment he finds out I consulted everyone else but him when it came to deciding where we should go he’s never going to leave me in peace about it.”

Gendry clears his throat. “Honestly? You got us this far. I still don’t get why people even listen to _him_ , if it wasn’t for you we’d be all fucking dead already.”

“Preach it,” Arya nods along.

Nice to see that even his sisters’s future husbands agree.

Ah, right, about _that_.

“That said,” he says, “I don’t know if the news change your plans or not, but — I’m going to make an announcement about Valyria a week or so from now. Enough so that people have time to get ready for it but not enough that they can fight that decision. I’m going to pick a day for… well, weddings and the likes since it’s not just the six of you having asked in the last few months.” He glances at both his sisters and Jon. “It’s going to be the day before the jump or something like that. If you still want to —”

“Of course I do,” Sansa interrupts.

“I should fucking hope so,” Ygritte says. “Took him years to propose, I’m not risking death before he puts a ring on it. Or the equivalent.”

“I would just for the fun of it.” Arya manages to sound amused, bless her, but then again she did spend all her life until they boarded the ship surrounded by people who assumed she wasn’t romance material, never mind marriage material. He can imagine why she wants it just for the heck of it.

“Right. Then you will all know as soon as I know _which_ day it is that we do the jump.” He can see that _everyone_ in the room bar Theon is sending him a look that says _you’re such a hypocrite_.

He doesn’t acknowledge it and bites down on the last piece of lemoncake.

He’s going to savor it as much as he can.

 

**

 

_“I don’t think it was clear that this isn’t up for discussion,” Robb says, looking at the disappointed faces around the meeting area._

_“Then why holding an election?” Baelish asks._

_“You decided it was,” Robb said. “I said I had an announcement when it came to my second in command, not that it would be an election same as your representatives.”_

_After the riot, he hadn’t wanted to risk any such thing happening again, which is why he insisted to elect representatives for each group on the ship._

_“One thing is choosing who represents you as a group, one thing is_ me _choosing someone to help me personally when it comes to running this place. And I’d like to think I can choose my own second in command.”_

_“And you’ll pick an ironborn over your own countrymen or your mother’s?”_

_Robb can feel Theon tensing up next to him. Of course he would._

_“Yes,” Robb says, “because since we left Westeros, he’s pulled his own weight and more. He was in charge of half of the exploring missions when we had enough fun for the smaller ships, he helped shooting down those drones Lannister sent after us and Brienne assured me that if he hadn’t been with them, we’d have gotten hit. And he has more experience running things than I actually do since he helped his uncle in Harlaw.”_ And after we spent weeks having drinks together at night while I was drafting the new law system, I think I know enough about how much he could never put those skills to use because his father thought any experience that wasn’t military or raiding ships was useless. _“Regardless, it has to be someone I feel comfortable working with and someone who’s not going to think of their side’s interest before others’s, and I know he wouldn’t.” He’s heard enough of Theon’s feelings when it comes to his homeland that he knows he’d be objective. “_ He _is my second. I’m not hearing any discussion on the topic. Understood?”_

_Baelish gives him a stare, but then nods and takes a step back._

_No one tries to object any further._

_Later, he’s sitting at the control room’s table, nursing a glass where he poured a bit of some of the whiskey they salvaged — he doesn’t like touching the alcohol reserves, but in between the riot, the election and this entire situation, he thinks he’s earned it._

_Theon walks in a moment later, wearing the gray jacket Robb had sent to his room before — that one used to belong to his uncle and he salvaged it out of Winterfell’s evacuation, and he had figured he’d save it for an eventual second in command if he ever got to appoint one._

_“You know,” Theon tells him, sitting at the table. “I’m flattered, but if this means that people might hate you, you should just —”_

_“Theon, for fuck’s sake, no. You’re literally the only person on this ship with the necessary skills and that I know and trust who incidentally would also_ not _automatically suggest I’m picking sides here. Your sister would have if I chose her, and the entire point is that I don’t want anyone to think I’m paying a specific side favors. Also, if I have to spend most of my time side by side with someone, I’d like them to be someone I don’t, you know, despise.”_

_“Oh, so you don’t despise me? I’m flattered,” Theon smirks as he sits across from Robb. “But honestly — I know it can’t have been an easy decision.”_

_“The decision was easy,” Robb shakes his head. “Implementing it might be more complicated, but I don’t care. I more or less picked my poison, fair, but since it means we aren’t_ all _dead, they’re going to have to live with it._

_Theon nods, looking down at his own hands. “All right,” he nods. “All right. But I’ll try to not make you regret it.”_

_Robb smiles up at him. “I don’t think I will.”_

_Theon smiles tentatively back, and Robb thinks it’s the first time that he does it and he’s not pretending to be fine._

_Well._

_Now if only that look sticks to his face, Robb wouldn’t mind it whatsoever._

_All the contrary, actually._

 

**

 

He had considered doing the announcement from the meeting point, but there is no place in this ship that can house _all_ the people in it at once and so he had Theon page the others so that everyone would be in their rooms at the agreed upon time. There are speakers in each room for emergency announcements, not that he ever uses them otherwise, so it should be good enough.

He sits in the control room, in front of the microphone. Theon is on his right, Jon is on his left, all the other representatives _including_ Baelish are sitting at the table.

Here it goes.

“To everyone residing on Winterfell,” he says. “This is the most important announcement I have ever made since we left Westeros. Or what remained of it.” He pauses, takes a breath. “As you have noticed and most likely deduced, our food won’t last forever, nor will our fuel. We had enough for three years when we left, but we could produce more up to a point. And — we’re nearing that point.” He can see Baelish opening his mouth and almost thanks Tyrion loudly when he kicks the man in the shin. “This is why I took a decision that no one would want to be in the position to take,” he breathes. “We had two alternatives. One was wandering into the nearest interstellar cloud and hope for the best while rationing our food and without knowing if we would find a place to stay. The other… well, we spent months going through some documents that we had salvaged from Rhaegar Targaryen’s library back in the day.” He considers telling the whole truth, then he decides to sugarcoat it. “There’s a very likely chance that Valyria is real.”

Tyrion kicks Baelish in the shin again and Robb is really glad that he cannot _hear_ people’s reaction to the announcement. “On top of that, our calculations suggest that Valyrians might have come to Westeros through a portal located… very much nearby. According to both science and our reasoning, if they came through it and eventually ended up in Westeros, so can we, just in reverse, and that’s where we are headed right now. It _is_ a large bet to take, and I understand that not all of you will agree with this decision, but I took out of necessity. We have wandered more or less aimlessly until now and I don’t trust doing it someplace we don’t even know a thing about.” He breathes. “We are reaching that portal in about five days. Four from now, I’m going to officiate all the marriages I’ve been asked to officiate in the last six months if the people involved still wish to. Until then, the food won’t be rationed anymore — it would make no sense regardless. Anyone who wants to complain about this decision is free to bring it up with their representative and I will be glad to talk to them in person to explain the reasons why I decided it was the least damaging option, but I will _not_ go back on it. Thank you all and I hope that we all see each other on… the other side, whenever it’s the time.”

He puts the microphone down and turns it off.

Three, two, one —

“Excuse me, what did you just say you _have done_?”

Robb sighs and moves to the other side of the table, staring at Baelish in the face. “I set course for what’s hopefully Valyria,” he says. “I thought I explained it clearly.”

“And you did it without asking _us_ if we agreed with it?”

Hopefully the others don’t think back on seconding his plan. “I took it,” he says, “and I put it as a done thing before you came in. None of them disagreed. And I didn’t tell you just because I knew you would have just delayed the announcement and protested against the decision, which is _already taken_.”

“This isn’t fair,” he protests. “And such a heavy decision should have been taken consulting all —”

“Actually, no,” Robb interrupts him.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Baelish, let’s make it clear. We made this ship a democracy, or close to it, but if you missed the point, _all_ the final decisions are up to me. Considering that everyone but _my_ people and the ones on Winterfell’s former moons, if you want to be exceedingly generous, is hitching a ride on a ship that _my_ family built and handled for a century, that the only reason why it’s almost two thousand people on here and not three hundred is that _I_ decided to not even try reiterating when Aerys Targaryen and Lannister _both_ bombed the shit out of my planet and take in as many people as I could from all of Westeros before those two doomed us all, I don’t think it’s asking for too much that _I_ eventually have the last say on what we’re doing. And _I_ decided we’re going to attempt this because I have no intention of starving in space or to get to the point where we postpone dying by eating corpses. _Clear_?”

“Clear,” Baelish says, “but of course that’s up to _you_ same as making preferences —”

“If you’re about to start complaining about Brienne Tarth _again_ , don’t bother.”

“Oh, because you didn’t take her in just because she knew your mother? And she didn’t bring —”

“Baelish, I took _you_ in because _you_ knew my mother and my aunt swore on your account,” Robb cuts him. “I took _Brienne_ in because I knew _her_ , and we wouldn’t have gotten out of the system without her in the first place nor without Jaime giving us the codes to disable the shields, and do I have to remind you the two months we got trailed by Targaryen _and_ Lannister drones that, oh, _might have nuked us in the middle of space_ and _she_ dealt with it? And if you want to bitch about Jaime not being trustworthy when he was the one making sure we’d get out in the first place, will you fucking quit whining if I tell you that I _married_ those two just after we left Westeros?”

“You did _what_?”

“They asked me just after they got on board. I figured that no one _she_ was willing to marry was going to backstab us. Now can you _please_ make peace with the fact that I’m not going to go back on the least bad option I had? Hey, at least you’ll get full portions until we make the jump, I thought you’d appreciate that.”

At _that_ , Baelish finally closes his mouth.

“Good,” Robb says, “and if my sister asks you, I’ll be pleased to see you at _her_ wedding three days from now. Anyone else has any questions or I can go to the bridge and wait for whoever wants to protest?”

No one else has questions.

Good.

——

“Heads up,” Theon tells Robb as they make their way, “he looked like he wanted to stab you.”

“I know,” Robb shrugs. “He’s welcome to try.”

Theon sends him a _look_.

Then he walks on, glancing over their back, and he doesn’t move from his side until he exhausted the line of people who want _personal_ explanations. Of course, most of them are Valeans. He gets through it more or less fine, and by the end he feels like going to sleep for the next ten years.

Too bad he _can’t_.

——

“How long do we have left?” He asks Jon and Ygritte later, as he does his rounds before heading up to bed.

“Around ninety-six hours,” Jon tells him. “Give or take. We’re on automatic pilot now, and the way is clear. Hopefully there will _be_ the portal.”

“You don’t have to stay here if there’s no need, you know,” Robb tells the both of them.

“Someone has to check the route,” Jon starts.

“You just said it’s on automatic and there’s nothing in the way. If you don’t want to spend the night here just — go and do something more fun than watching the sky.”

“But —” Jon starts.

“Robb, you’re the best acquired relative anyone could ask for,” Ygritte interrupts, and a moment later she has grabbed Jon’s arm and dragged him out of the room. Robb spends a moment to smile at the sight while she kicks the door closed, then he stares out of the window.

He used to love watching the stars, when he was younger. Now — well, now he lost a lot of his taste for it, but that’s not the point now, is it?

He locks the door.

And that’s one.

He heads for the communications room next, where Gilly has been stuck with the most boring job in the entire ship — when you have no one to communicate with, it’s hardly the most engaging activity —, knocks and walks in.

“Robb? Can I do something for you?” She asks, putting away her headphones.

“Yeah,” he says, “just blow this joint and go get Sam from the lab and have some fun before we reach the portal.”

“What? Really? But —”

“Come on, we both know there’s no one in between _here_ and our destination. Hopefully not final,” he tries to smile. “No point in wasting the last three days we have _for sure_ wasting time.”

“Well, if you’re sure —”

“Gilly, I’m _absolutely_ sure, just go.”

“If that’s the case,” she smiles, “I’m entirely fine with it. Thank you,” she says, and then she dashes out of the room as well. Of course she does. He can believe that everyone would jump at the chance. He already told Theon to go find Kyra if he wants to — it’s not that they’re together but he thinks they’ve friends with benefits and have been for a while, and there’s no point in tormenting himself _and_ having Theon witness it when he doesn’t know that Robb’s been in love with him for years by now.

He wishes he could tell Connington to take a break, too, but he can’t afford to have the engines left unattended and he’s the only one who knows how the entire thing works on a theoretical level. Still, maybe he should drop by to at least say a few words. He heads for the engineering area.

Then he runs into his great-uncle, who seems… headed to the same place?

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Robb tells him.

“Are you telling everyone to just stop doing their jobs and enjoy what time they have left?”

“Maybe I am, but since I can’t tell the people in engineering to do the same… or better, _someone_ has to stay there and Connington is the only one with the skills.”

“It’s fine,” Brynden tells him, “I was going there anyway.”

“You were —” Robb starts, and _then_ he puts two and two together. Those two have been working together since the ship sailed off since his great-uncle used to also be a space engineer back in the say, and lately Connington _did_ seem to be more over Rhaegar than he was when he boarded the ship in a hurry while looking absolutely devastated the day they landed in the Stormlands. “ _Right_. Of course. Well, say hi from me,” he says. “And — congratulations, whatever it is.”

Brynden smiles slightly. “Maybe it’ll go somewhere. _If_ we get to Valyria.”

“Well, have fun meanwhile. _Have fun_. Whatever counts.”

“Sure. Oh, Bran is _taking strolls_ with Meera Reed and Wylla Manderly has been locked in your room since an hour ago or so, you might want to avoid your quarters.”

“Duly noted,” Robb says, and for a moment he thinks that maybe he should just go back to the pilot room and get some sleep in the empty seats, but then he sees Theon come up to him in the hallway.

“Hey,” he says. “I told you that the next few days were off —”

“ _If I wanted_ ,” Theon says, “and honestly, I felt horrible that _you_ were stalking around the place on your own, never mind that Kyra has cut our friends with benefits thing off when she got with Patrek Mallister.”

“Oh. Well, congratulations to her?”

“Indeed,” Theon grins back, not sounding too heartbroken about it. “So I figured that _someone_ had to keep your sorry ass company.”

Robb smiles in return, and for a moment it’s on his lips, he’s about to tell him that there’s no one else he’d rather be with right now —

And then his pager beeps.

It’s Tyrion.

“Stark,” he answers. “Do you need me?”

“Actually, yes,” Tyrion says. “Can you come to my brother’s quarters? Now?”

Robb shrugs. “In a moment.”

Theon falls into step next to him without asking questions and they’re there in a few minutes — Lannister is in front of the door, pacing wildly, and he thinks he can hear someone moaning in pain inside.

Wait.

 _Moaning in pain_ —

“Is it —” Robb asks.

“Yes,” Tyrion says, “but it wasn’t due for another week.”

“Maybe it’s just… early?”

“Maybe,” Tyrion sighs, “but we can’t ever know for sure, with the precedents. Anyway, I wanted to ask — would you mind staying guard? Given how the situation is right now, I have a very strong feeling that something might go wrong, but I can’t be here. I mean, _I_ have to deliver that baby, don’t I?”

“Of course,” Robb immediately tells him. “Just — go in. We’ll stay here.”

“Splendid,” Tyrion says gratefully, and immediately walks inside the room.

Well, so much for _sleeping_.

“It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it?” Theon quips as soon as he’s sure no one is near the door. Robb half-smiles.

“All nights are long, these days.”

“… Can’t blame you there,” Theon shrugs, and Robb straightens his back.

He has a feeling that _this_ one night might be longer than most others.

——

“She’ll be fine,” Theon tells him for the tenth time.

It’s been five hours and everything they’ve heard from behind the door has been either pained moans or screams.

Theon doesn’t sound _too_ sure of it, though.

“Thanks for trying,” Robb sighs, “but we both know what are the chances here.”

“Hey, who knows. You _know_ Tarth’s main source of income was either exporting their food and water at a ridiculously high price or being a high class resort for thermal baths and the likes. Maybe there was a reason.”

That’s true, Robb has to admit. Tarth used to be one of Storm’s End’s moons, and while small, its exports were immensely coveted and its food was famous in the entire system for being especially tasty and nutritious.

“What, you’re telling me that since she ate better food than all of us growing up now she might be the only person healthy enough to carry a pregnancy to term?”

“What if I am?”

“Fascinating theory,” Robb grins tiredly, “but you know that we _did_ take tests when we realized _something_ was wrong and it wasn’t just women being barren and whatnot, it was also a question of sperm count? Which means that _he_ also should have eaten all that excellent food while growing up, and I can assure you that _his_ planet wasn’t famous for the crops.”

“No, it was famous for the gold mines,” Theon agrees. “Well, dunno, considering how much they fuck, maybe she’s passed over —”

“ _Theon_ , what the hell? How would you even —”

“I’m bunking next door, I’ve heard enough in the last five years.”

… Fair, Robb had forgotten.

“All right, but — please don’t _ever_ go there again, the last thing I needed to be pondering was Lannister’s — never mind. I hate you,” he proclaims, but he’s also grinning in spite of himself.

“Yeah, and you’re laughing.”

“Never said my sense of humor wasn’t abysmal,” Robb replies, and again, he _would_ like to tell Theon that his horrible jokes also were a good part of the reasons why he’s kept his shit together for this long, but it doesn’t feel appropriate, not now, not when —

Suddenly, he hears Tyrion screaming to _push harder_ , and then harder, and a moment later he hears wailing of _another kind_ , and —

“ _Fuck_ ,” Theon says. “Is it —”

“Yeah,” Robb whispers, barely believing it. “Yeah, it _sounds_ like it. Shit, I can’t believe it,” he says, his hand finding the gun he keeps on his hip at all times for the tenth time this evening. Fuck, if they’ve made it —

 _If they’ve made it_ —

The door opens. It’s Tyrion. “You can come in,” he says, sounding tired as hell, but he’s also… smiling? “Just lock the door.”

“Sure,” Theon says just as Robb walks in.

And he barely even register that the room smells foul, of course it _would_. That’s not the point. The point is that Brienne is sitting up against the wall, breathing and with her face covered in sweat but not _dead_ like the last woman on this ship who actually _did_ get this far, three years ago. Jaime is sitting next to her looking like someone who can barely believe this went well, staring adoringly at both her and the very alive and breathing blonde baby with blue eyes in her arms.

“Woah,” Robb says, “you — you made it, I — what’s the name?”

“You look like you’re about to faint,” Jaime smirks tiredly. “Anyway, _she_ insisted and I didn’t say no.”

“What?”

“Catelyn,” she says, staring straight at Robb with those large, clear blue eyes, and now he feels like he’s going to break down in tears — all right, he knew they were close, and he knew his mother was the reason why she got the military job in the first place and that she was the reason she and Jaime Lannister met in the first place, but he had no idea that she would — “And _yes_ , it’s for your mother, and _no_ , please don’t cry because I think we did enough of that for now.”

Of course she’d say that. They spent one night discussing her death and life, a while after the riots. They _did_ both share some tears. Robb still feels like crying, though. “Very well,” he smiles. “I won’t. And — I’ll send someone to clean up. And maybe double food rations, but don’t tell anyone.”

“Far from me,” Jaime says. “And Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d better be right about Valyria. It’d be a pity if we ended up dead _now_ , wouldn’t it?”

Robb wipes at his face. “It would be,” he agrees. “It would be.”

——

“Hey,” Theon tells him later, after they left the three of them being the closest to the picture of a proper family unit they might get on this ship, “you _know_ that means that maybe some of us are still salvageable? I mean, when we did the tests, Lannister was — well. I said I wasn’t going to mention it, but —”

“I know, most of us had sperm count way below average and it was good if _that_ was the only issue,” Robb finishes for him. His uncle Edmure and a few others didn’t, and those men were the only ones who managed to conceive with their partners, but again… those pregnancies _never_ came to term. “And I know we could try again, but — I doubt it’s my case.”

“Robb —”

“ _Theon_. That mission I barely came back alive from? I escaped the Dreadfort by the hair on my neck, and _that_ moon got nuked hard enough it _vaporized_ itself two minutes after I was barely out of its orbit. There is no bloody way _I_ am ever going to have children, and even if I did — listen, you _do_ remember the first few stillborns?”

“… Yes.” The fact that Theon doesn’t even try to joke about it says a lot about how much he remembers.

“My point exactly.” Half of them were stillborn because of birthing complications, most of those were born dead out of radiation-caused malformations that about made sure they wouldn’t survive two days in the open, and the other half died during the delivery.

“But you’re right,” Robb says. “We should re-take tests, all of us. Maybe if _he_ is somehow healthy again, some others might be.”

Never mind that they should worry about it _after_ they get to Valyria. Still —

 _Still_.

It’s not even half a chance of survival, but it’s the only good piece of news he’s had in the last five years, more or less.

He’ll take it.

“Robb?”

“What? Sorry, I was —”

“You were falling asleep on your feet,” Theon says, not unkindly. “You want to bunk in with me for the night, it’s no problem.”

Robb should say no, but he’s tired and Theon’s room is close and the prospect is enough to make his stomach bloom in warmth, so he lets Theon drag him inside his small room, he kicks off his shoes and jacket while Theon carefully takes his off, and a moment later Theon pushes him under the covers and moves on the other side of the bed. It’s small, and they have to stick together, so he throws an arm around Theon’s waist, buries his face in Theon’s hair and tries to not let himself thing, _if only this could be the norm_.

——

He celebrates the marriages twenty-four hours from the supposed hour they should approach the portal.

It’s some ten couples, not that he had expected much more. Since as useless as it might be he wants to do this _properly_ , he wears his cleanest and nicest uniform that he salvaged from Winterfell (he was in _university_ , damn it, he can’t believe he’s recycling his old school uniform, with the other old leather coat of his father’s that never quite fit him, differently from the one he wears daily. It’s still slightly large on him, but he fills it out better than he did at eighteen, when he stopped wearing it because he was fucking drowning inside it and it made him look like a kid who had no idea of what he was doing.

Never mind that it was true.

He has everyone who wants to be present convene on the bridge. Sansa wore her mother’s wedding dress, fuck, he hadn’t even remembered she saved it from Winterfell, Arya is wearing her regular clothes and has barely even braided her hair and Jon and Ygritte — well. Their shirts are buttoned wrong and she didn’t even brush her hair after drying it.

He hadn’t expected any less.

Since the ship sailed, they made short work of this kind of thing — he’s in front of some fifteen different couples and for the first ten minutes he recites the same list of felicitations, hopes that they’ll find someplace to live soon, more felicitations from all the Planets That Were in Westeros, and then he goes in front of each couple, has them exchange either rings or jewelry or whatever they chose to swap, and moves on to the other while they kiss. As much as he loves his siblings, he _can_ do without seeing them with their tongues in their significant others’s mouths, _really_.

It’s over in twenty minutes.

He watches them all run off, then wraps the coat tighter around him.

He thinks that at least _they_ will get to have it, for the next twenty-four hours. Then he wipes at his eyes because fuck that, Jon and Ygritte had been the last couple and he had gotten emotional.

“I always pegged you for the person who cries at weddings,” Theon tells him as he hands over a tissue.

“Fuck you,” Robb grins, and he should probably take the occasion to tell Theon that he’s been dreaming of doing the same with him for at least one year at this point, but — he’s apparently too much of a coward to do it when _he_ is the interested party.

 

**

 

_“If anything,” Theon says as year three of flying around the galaxy comes to a close, “I guess my mother would be proud of — whatever it is I’m accomplishing.”_

_“Hey,” Robb tells him, leaning against the rail on the bridge, “you definitely prevented me from punching someone out of losing my shit with them more than once and you’ve done great, you’re accomplishing at least preventing a void of power. Which is what would happen if I snapped and punched anyone who makes me want to give this whole thing up and float myself into space.”_

_“Hey, you_ aren’t _going to —”_

_“Don’t worry,” Robb laughs, “that was both Lannisters rubbing off on me. I’m not floating myself into space anytime soon.”_

_“Good,” Theon says. “Because anyone else running this show wouldn’t manage it for a month.”_

_“Are you in the mood for throwing compliments around or has our carefully rationed Dornish wine finally gotten to your head?”_

_Theon shakes his head, bringing the glass to his lips._

_“Robb, I don’t think you grasped that concept even if you talked to my sister daily for years.” He stops, takes a breath. “No one ever thought I was much good for anything. I mean, my brothers barely even noticed me, my father thought I was wasting air just by existing, my sister and my mother might have been of a different opinion but it’s not like_ they _could convince anyone else to give me a chance. I went to Harlaw because I figured at least I’d be with people who didn’t hate me. The fact that you thought I was actually worth the position means that someone actually gave me a chance, so excuse me if I can pay you a compliment or two.”_

_Robb doesn’t honestly know what to say to that, so he drinks more of his wine._

_“Well.” He clears his throat. “My parents left for Blackwater before war broke out. They thought they could try to_ mediate _things.” He sighs. “They died when Aerys had everyone in the Red Keep murdered just before he bombed Casterly_ and _blew up half of the city. I like to think they’d be proud of what I did of the family heirloom.” He glances at the ceiling, then back down to the ground. “I don’t know. But I tried my best.”_

 _“I can see that.” Theon says nothing for the next few minutes, then a hand touches Robb’s wrist tentatively as he gifts Robb one of those small,_ real _smiles of his. “And you’re doing better than you think.”_

 _“I’ll let you believe that for the both of us,” Robb smiles back, and thinks that out of everything, he doesn’t regret having picked_ him _, nor having gone back to Harlaw even if he was told he was a waste of time._

_He really doesn’t._

 

**

 

“Well, _fuck_ ,” Theon says as he stares out of the ship’s windows as they all stand in the control room.

Robb is inclined to agree.

So: turns out that the calculations were right.

It also turns out that Baelor Targaryen wasn’t working on wrong assumptions and that he also hadn’t been wildly theorizing, because — there is is. Robb doesn’t know what he had expected, but certainly not what looks like an inverted black hole. Well, inverted because it’s not _dark_ , it’s a brilliant, warm white tinted with gold that reminds him of a larger than life star.

“Right,” Jon says, “last chance. If we go forward beyond this point, we end up in its orbit and we can’t get out.”

“And where would we even go?” Theon says.

“He’s right.” Robb sighs.

“Wow,” Tyrion whistles from behind him, “I guess that if we have to die, that’s not the worst grave I can imagine having.”

“Lannister, I love how one can always count on you for quality humor,” Oberyn says. “Also, I told you that you wouldn’t regret our offer.”

“His _what_?” Garlan Tyrell asks. Tyrion goes red in the face. Jaime, who is standing near them while Brienne sits in one of the chairs with Catelyn bundled against her chest, clears his throat.

“Tyrell, have you missed that our Dornish representative and his wife have tried to convince my brother to go for a threesome for months and he might have caved in yesterday?”

“Excuse me if I only worry about _my_ sex life,” Garlan grumbles.

Robb can’t blame him.

“Well, good to know you all had fun,” he says. He says nothing else as the others who were standing (bar him) sit back down on the free chairs in the room. He supposes they all said their goodbyes before “Jon, Ygritte. Go ahead.”

He puts his hand on the lever that will start the ship again. She puts her own hand over his. They push it together just as she presses another couple buttons that will send the ship into hyperdrive and avoid ending up thrown around everywhere if the portal’s orbit is too strong.

The ship moves forward and no one says a thing. Jon and Ygritte keep on holding hands, Jaime goes to sit next to Brienne, his head dropping to her shoulder, everyone else just stays put on those chairs except for Oberyn, who’s holding hands with Ellaria. Robb stands in front of the window and stares ahead. Somehow, that light doesn’t hurt.

“You know,” he whispers as Theon moves right next to him, “you _could_ go and stay with your sister.”

Asha _didn’t_ come up here for the jump. “Are you insane?” He laughs. “She said she was going to go down having _fun_ , which means that she’s probably in the middle of her two or three boyfriends or whatever. We said our goodbyes before. Same as you did with your siblings, so you shouldn’t be judging me.”

“I’m not judging you, I’m just saying —”

“Robb, this is probably a shit moment to say it, but there’s literally no other bloody place I’d like to be right now, so how about you _don’t_?”

 _Wait, what_?

“There’s no —”

Robb’s words die in his throat when Theon’s fingers suddenly grasp his own and squeeze.

“Asha might have kicked my ass for never telling you until now, but I knew you wouldn’t really be interested the way _I_ am, so if you would consider not saying anything and let me pretend for the last five minutes of my potential life —”

“Theon, _what the fuck_ , I’ve been in love with you since you shot that last drone that was about to blow a hole inside the left side engine,” Robb blurts back, and Theon’s dark eyes go wide in surprise, his hands’s grip tightening on his own.

“What — you were — but you never said —”

“I — didn’t think you were interested,” Robb replies sheepishly and with less than a bit of regret, because he could have said, he _could_ have done something about it and now they’re stranded in fucking space and they might die or they might not —

“Look at that,” Theon says, sounding out of breath. “Maybe now we _really_ should hope that going back to the light or whatever the fuck it is we’re doing means we actually get out of it, huh?”

Robb doesn’t even try ti wipe at his eyes as they tear up. There would be no point. Not now.

He holds Theon’s hand tighter as they come close and closer to the center of the portal, and he can feel the ship becoming hotter even if not enough to actually harm them, and —

Ah, fuck it, he decides, and just as he can barely see anything because there’s bright, white, warm light everywhere, he grabs Theon’s head and drags him down and their mouths meet and it feels _right_ , the pieces perfectly slotting into place as if they were meant to be, his tongue barely touching Theon’s as Theon moans inside his mouth, and then everything around him is blinding _white —_

Then he closes his eyes and doesn’t see a thing anymore.

——

He opens his eyes.

Theon’s face is right in front of him, and their hands are still grasping at each other almost convulsively.

He closes them, he opens them again. He takes in a deep breath. It works.

Well. If anything, they survived the first part of the journey, he thinks, and he can’t find it in himself to move until Brienne and Jaime’s daughter wails and he finally manages to actually _move_ , same as everyone else — suddenly people are _talking_ and Theon’s opening his eyes, too.

“Wow,” he says, “I guess I’m not dead, am I?”

“No,” Robb says, “we definitely aren’t.”

“Huh,” he goes on, “I could have thought I was,” and wait, did he just imply that —

“Guys,” Jon interrupts, “not to interrupt you two after you _finally_ got over yourselves, but I think that you need to stop looking at each other and look _out_.”

Robb swallows the insult that had been rising in his throat, and turns towards the main window without letting Theon’s hand go.

And —

“Oh,” he whispers, barely finding breath to actually speak.

“Look at _that_ ,” Jaime says, “sounds like you didn’t kill us all, did you?”

No one else says anything as they stare at the sight before them. It’s a small system, with a bright blood-red star in the center, they can see the whole of it from here, and a few other planets rotating around it. He can barely distinguish them from their vantage point, but he can see that differently from Westeros, all the planets are _not_ traveling at about the same distance from the main star, and the nearest one won’t be livable for sure.

Still —

“Jon,” he croaks, “can you run diagnostics?”

“I think we can, let me restart the system. Gilly, you mind doing the same in the communications area?”

“On it,” she says, running out of the door. Sam moves next to Jon as he’s the one person in here who can actually interpret said diagnostics beyond the obvious, and for five minutes no one says a word as they watch data run across the screen until they stop, showing a series of four planets of different sizes.

And it doesn’t take an interpreter to actually put two and two together, because four of them already look like lost causes.

The third one, though —

It looks a shade of red close to burgundy in this light, but the moment Sam starts fiddling with the controls, the screen zooms and shows that there’s actually water on the surface, it’s just the light from the main star that gives the illusion. And there’s also a _lot_ of green surface visible, even if they probably cannot zoom any further at this point.

“Sam,” Robb asks, “how big is it?”

“… About the same size as Riverrun,” he says. “Wait, let me check the specifics. Jon, can you print that out for all of the planets?”

“Here,” Jon says, handing him a printed sheet a moment later. Then he moves to the comms. “Gilly, you’re picking anything up?”

“No,” she says, “dead silence.”

“Well,” Sam says, “the other ones are a no-go. One is a gas planet, the first two are all rock and we’d about burn the moment we got into their orbit and the last one is too cold. But _that_ one —”

“Yeah?”

“Well. While the atmosphere is denser than what we were adjusted to in Westeros, the air sounds breathable, it has a water/earth ratio of about seventy to thirty percent and we should get there within a week if we start now. Which would be good because that’s about how much fuel we have left. From what else we can deduce for now,” Sam goes on, “the average surface temperature should be some eighteen degrees, and counting how far it is from the main star, how fast it seems to turn on itself and so on, there’s a likely chance there will be drastic temperature differences with the turning of the seasons. Also, a day is more or less as long as ours, but a year — well, is as long as five of _our_ years put together.”

No one says a thing for a long, long moment.

“Welcome to Valyria, I guess.” Tyrion’s voice is tentatively hopeful as he breaks the silence. “Do you think we’ll run into the dragons?”

“Who fucking knows,” Robb says, “but if there are, they’re going to have to share. Jon, Ygritte, steer the ship already. We need to get there.”

“As the captain commands,” Ygritte grins, and a moment later they’re slowly, slowly sailing forward.

Theon’s hand hasn’t left Robb’s the entire time.

He doesn’t do a single thing to let it go.

Maybe in a while.

Not _now_.

 

_One week later_

 

“Oh, _now_ you look well-rested,” Rickon tells Robb as he comes back into their room for the first time since they passed through the portal.

“Excuse me?”

“You _do_ look like you had a great time. Then again, _no one_ saw you for the last ten days and they haven’t seen Theon either, so —”

“We had to make up for lost time.” Robb tries to cut the conversation _there_ — he has no interest in discussing what they’ve done for the entire week with _his brother_ any further, even if he doubts that at this point he’d end up surprising him or anything of the kind. He’s only here to get his nice clothes, but he supposes that if _he_ has to be the first out of the ship he can’t go dressed with clothes that reek of sex. “And get dressed, we’re landing in half an hour.”

“Fair, _fair_ ,” Rickon says before leaving him to the last shower he’ll hopefully have on this blasted ship. He takes it, wears the good outfit and his father’s coat again, then heads for the control room twenty minutes before the supposed landing time.

All the representatives are there already and Theon is, too, looking like he also barely got out of the shower, but then he smiles at Robb and Robb smiles back and it all feels so _good,_ he wishes they had done this a lot earlier.

Well.

If they’re lucky, they can make up for lost time on Valyria.

He _really_ hopes they can.

“How is the situation?” He asks, moving behind Jon and looking out of the window.

His breath catches in his throat — now that they’re closer and _closer_ , he can see that the entire planet looks abandoned and devoid of human presence except for what seems like a large city underneath them, and while the light still makes it look blood red, he can see green all over the surface areas that are visible from their vantage point.

“We found a good landing spot before,” Ygritte tells him. “Gilly hasn’t located any signal whatsoever, so it _does_ seem like we’re on our own. There’s only one large city on the entire planet, which we could actually divide in eight areas neatly enough given the pictures we took as we went down. We figured it might be a good starting point, at most we can move from there.”

“Right. How are the food resources?”

“We still have a week’s worth,” Sam says, “but if we’re landing in a city, as abandoned as it looks like, maybe we can just, well, _stay_ there and take advantage of whatever systems are there already.”

Robb nods. “Right. Well, let’s see this through then. How many people could this city house?”

“If the calculations aren’t wrong, it was built for at least some thirty thousand. But it could have been more.”

Hm. Well, then those tales about the Valyrians being technologically advanced weren’t false and they _did_ really leave to look for a more spacious planet.

He figures Varys would have _loved_ that, if his bogus science tv show was still airing.

“And there are no other cities _at all_?”

“No,” Sam says. “But I ran some diagnostics. Apparently that one spot is the only one on Valyria’s surface that allowed building one so large — the rest of the green areas look fairly wild and there might have been a few villages scattered over the planet, but there’s no human life anywhere. Not that we could scan.”

“Right. Then I think we should get down first and take a look around while someone holds the fort here and starts thinking about the order in which we should get off the ship and planning how we should divide hourselves, so we can have people leaving when we already know where to house them.”

“Fair,” Stannis says. “Davos, would you mind worrying about that?”

“I’ll be on it as soon as we land,” Davos confirms.

No one says anything else as they go down, and _down_ , and Robb can see the infamous city now — it’s breathtaking.

The center, from what it looks like, is all white skyscrapers, _tall_ ones, and while he can see that they’re also covered in vegetation and that they’re abandoned, they still look impressive, while the rest of the houses spreading towards the outside are less tall but still look extremely sleek and functional, same as what looks like factories, all cluttered on the far edge. Sure as hell the Valyrians cared for architecture.

 _Well, at worst we might end up stranded here but it won’t be in ugly houses_ , he doesn’t say, and watches carefully as the ship goes down towards an empty piece of land on what looks like a hill on the far side of the city.

Damn. Robb can’t fucking believe that for the first time in years he’s landing down on a flat surface _._

They land the ship and kill the engines, looking at the orange-red sky above them while Sam runs diagnostics.

“Right,” he says after a few long minutes, “the air should be breathable. Again, it’s denser than what we’re adjusted to, but nothing we can’t adapt to same as the Valyrians adapted to ours. We don’t need to take suits out or anything if we want to take a walk around this charming place.”

“Well then,” Theon says, “then should we just get out and see if Valyria kills us or not?”

“Can’t fucking wait for it,” Oberyn replies, “I need to not be on this goddamned ship anymore. Sam, how’s the weather?”

“Should be around springtime on _your_ planet. Well, the way it used to be — it’s some twenty-four degrees, more or less.”

“Sounds good. Stark, who’s coming?”

“I am,” Robb says. “I suppose you are. Tyrion?”

“Of course. I’ve been reading about these damned Valyrians since I was a kid, like _hell_ I’m going to miss being on the first expedition out.”

“Great. Tell Brienne I don’t need her or Jaime, I can bring Sandor Clegane along if there’s the need to shoot at people.”

“I’m coming as well,” Garlan Tyrell says.

“If Theon’s going,” Asha says, “I’ll just go and see how everyone else in my sector is doing so they’re ready for it.”

“Actually, would you mind making sure no one tries to leave?”

“Duly noted, Stark, duly noted.”

“I’m coming, too,” Stannis says. “Davos, if she needs help —”

“I’ll be on it, no worries.”

“I should come, too,” Sam says. “In case something goes wrong, I have the equipment.”

“I’ll come as well,” Jon Connington says. “I’ve been on here too long as well.”

“We’re coming, too,” Ygritte says. “I need to be out of this ship.”

“Yeah, and I’m not staying here getting bored out of my mind,” Jon adds, his hand slipping inside hers.

No one else volunteers, but Robb figures it’s more than enough of them.

“Right,” Robb says. “Then let’s check _Valyria_ out.”

——

After some forty minutes of walking around, they know for sure at least a few things.

Number one: the air is perfectly breathable and according to Sam’s instruments, it’s cleaner than it used to be back in any planet in Westeros. ( _But then again_ , Theon had remarked, _I don’t think pollution is a problem here anymore_. It was a fair point.)

Number two: the sky looks _weird_. It’s probably because _this_ star is blood red rather than the yellow dwarf star they had in Westeros, which counts for the orange-red sky they’re seeing rather than the blue they were adjusted to. Still, could be plenty worse.

Number three: the city is completely _dead_. They’ve walked around it until now and while the buildings look sleek and beautiful, it’s obvious that it’s been abandoned for centuries and some of the walls are covered in burned soot while almost all the houses are covered in vegetation seeping in between cracked walls. Some of the buildings are collapsed on themselves, but other than _that_ , it seems like the place is still standing.

Now they’re standing outside one of them, waiting for Sandor and Jon Connington to come out — they volunteered to go inside one of the houses to assess the situation and they haven’t come out for the last ten minutes or so.

“It’s just weird that this is so empty,” Oberyn says. “I suppose we have no idea _why_ , right?”

Jon shakes his head. “I went through all those diaries of my father’s twice. They said those people were sailing for new worlds because there were too many of them here. They obviously never came back, but maybe people just… killed each other? The same way _we_ did?”

“This doesn’t look like the result of overpopulation or a nuclear war,” Tyrion mutters as he looks on the ground. “What — oh, _well then_.”

He kneels and comes up with… a piece of mummified _skull_?

“Shit,” Theon says, moving closer. “That’s — yeah. That’s human.”

“It’s also _old_ ,” Tyrion says. A piece of it crumbles into his fingers. “… Sam, any thoughts?”

Sam moves near him, taking a look at the bones. “If you can keep it in one piece until we get back to the ship I can run tests. But whatever happened, I agree — we’re talking centuries here. Then again, we don’t know if going through that portal meant, you know, a time jump or anything.”

“It’s not as if we’re going back, are we?” Theon asks.

“What the — oh, you found one, too?”

 _Too_?

Robb turns towards the building’s door, where Sandor and Jon Connington have just come out.

“What, that place full of dead people as well?” Theon asks, sounding entirely too flippant for Robb’s tastes.

“It was — weird,” Jon Connington says. “The place looked completely abandoned — of course there’s dust everywhere, the walls are cracked and so on, but it had furniture and proper rooms and so on, and while nothing worked… it _does_ seem like the doors all used to be automated. They had fingerprint recognition. Also, the walls had screens on it — one was definitely a television, I don’t know about the others, but they were large. Also, half of that house seemed to work on touch-based technology, which of course means that we had to break through the locks manually as the electricity is dead, doo. I looked on the upper floors and there was all there was to it.”

“Well, I looked in the cellar,” Sandor shrugs. “And there were some ten mummified bodies inside it.”

“ _Ten_?” Robb asks.

“Unless I counted bloody wrong, but it was large enough for ten people, as a house. Honest, if you ask my humble opinion, it’s likely that half of this city has mummies in the cellar.”

 _But I guess it means they’re all dead for real_ , Robb thinks. “Maybe we should try to locate a university or someplace like that,” he says. “If we can find information on what happened, it’s either there or at a news station, if they had any.”

“Fair,” Garlan says, “but I don’t think it’s a priority. I mean, the air is _clean_ , isn’t it?”

“That’s a good point,” Tyrion confirms, “I mean, Westeros is going to stay fucking radioactive for the next millennia or so at this point, if the air here is not only breathable but _cleaner_ than it was in Westeros, it can’t have been because people nuked each other. Maybe it was natural, but if it was, it’s long over.”

“If we have to bury a bunch of corpses, it won’t be the worst thing we had to do since this whole nightmare started,” Robb says. “But if we want to start letting people off the ship, we need to figure out where they should stay and how we’re dividing ourselves, and we won’t find out raiding single buildings.”

He glances at the road in front of him. It’s paved, with _good_ asphalt. There are also flowers blooming in between the creaks and the sides of the road are covered in what look like husks of cars.

“Yeah, fair,” Sam says. “But you _do_ know that going by foot it’s going to take some two hours to even get close to the center of the city? Or what _seems_ like it.”

“Fuck. How fucking big is this place?”

“Wouldn’t it make sense if it’s the only city they had?” Tyrion points out.

“Not wrong.” Jon Connington doesn’t sound _too_ excited about this.

Robb walks near the husk of what seems like a car on the left side of the road. It looks also sleek and functional, but it’s also… completely rusted. He breaks the door’s lock. Huh. More touch-based technology — there is no spot for the keys, but there’s a fingerprint recognition system. And if he knows his engineering, this is a model that was supposed to run on sunlight, not on fuel. From the shape, though… it looks like it _could_ have flied, rather than run on the road.

Still, no point in worrying about it. There’s no way it’s going to start _now_.

“If they had _flying cars_ maybe some that didn’t rust survived somewhere?”

“Not here, it seems,” Theon sighs, and — “Wait, do you guys _hear_ that?”

Robb is about to ask, _what_ , but then —

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he says, because that was a growl, and not the _nice_ kind of, and he can see Clegane immediately taking the safety off his shotgun —

“ _Bugger me_ ,” Clegane shouts a moment later, and Robb can echo the sentiment as the orange-red sky is covered by a large, large shadow, with spread wings and scales and a _tail_ and a bout of fire leaving its mouth.

“Is that a fucking _dragon_?” Oberyn asks, but it’s a rhetorical question. It’s _indeed_ a fucking dragon.

“Guys,” Tyrion says, looking at his back, “I think we should run.”

“Inside that house? It’d roast us,” Theon says, “and I think it saw us already.”

“I can try to shoot it,” Clegane shouts, “but it’s _huge_. I don’t know if I’d just piss it off.”

“No,” Robb says. “You’re right. Maybe we can just backtrack and —”

“It’s — is it gliding?” Stannis asks, and — holy shit. It _does_ , flying down very, very gently, and landing right in front of them.

Up close, it’s — well. _Huge_. It has bright green and bronze scales, which glow like jade under that yellow sky, and Robb shudders as he sees the sharp, black claws. It bares its teeth for a moment, and they’re also pitch black, but — it doesn’t try to eat any of them, which he supposes is good news. It has large, bronze eyes, the same shade as the scales, and when it obviously takes them all in, Robb can _see_ it — it’s not some kind of mindless bleast. It knows _exactly_ what they are.

He just hope it hasn’t decided that they’re food.

“Should we do _something_?” Tyrion whispers after it’s stared at them for a long, long moment.

“I wouldn’t risk that if I were you,” Stannis hisses back. “It’s not eating us for now, is it?”

“No,” Garlan agrees, “but — it looks like it’s _thinking_ something and I don’t know if I like it.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Robb whispers, “but it’s not like we have the upper hand here.”

“That we don’t — hey, _what_ ,” Theon breathes a moment later, and right, the dragon moved, but slowly, _lowering its head_ , and —

It goes straight for where Jon’s standing.

“What the fuck,” Jon blurts, and then the dragon pretty much sits down in front of him, _staring_ up at him as if it’s expecting _him_ to act.

“Well,” Theon says after Jon has just helplessly stared back for a minute, “do _something_ already.”

“What — Theon, for fuck’s sake, there’s a damned _dragon_ in front of me, what should I do?”

“It’s not fucking eating you, right?” Theon presses. “Whatever you want before it changes its mind?!”

“But — I don’t know —”

“ _Oh._ I — maybe I got it,” Jon Connington sounds like someone who has just figured something out, which according to Robb is _excellent news_.

“Then if you shared with the class I would be delighted,” Robb replies, moving closer to both Theon and Jon.

“It’s — I mean, those stories. They said Valyrians had more or less domesticated the dragons. _More or less_ , as in, they would keep them around and the dragons would let them come up for a ride and do heavy lifting for them and so on, but wouldn’t quite accept to be chained in the cellar, if you get my meaning. And their lifespan… well, it’s centuries.”

“And how does that help us?”

Connington smiles very, very sadly. “Jon, the Targaryens _had_ Valyrian blood,” he says, softly. “ _You_ are the only one in between us who has some. I think — I think it can feel that.”

Jon’s eyes go very, very wide. “Are you telling me that —”

“I’m telling you that your father had _their_ blood and you have it, too, and that dragon can smell it and it’s decided you’re the new food provider.”

“Oh, whatever. Here it goes, I guess,” Jon says, reaching out with his right hand and touching the dragon’s head.

It lets out a small flame, but nothing that might hurt anyone. Then it _presses up against Jon’s hand_.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Jon says again, and a moment later the dragon’s tail is curling around his legs. “This isn’t happening.”

Jon Connington is smiling not too thinly. “Oh, I think it _is_.”

“Wow,” Theon says, sounding suddenly relieved. “So now you’re a born dragon tamer?”

“Fuck you sideways,” Jon groans, but he reaches back down to cradle the back of the dragon’s head.

It _lets_ him.

“I think it chose you,” Theon snorts. “Hey, you think it might give us a ride to the city center?”

“Are you _insane_? I’m not —” Jon says, but the dragon actually makes a rumble in the back of its throat and —

His torso touches the ground completely, its head leaning down.

“Look at that,” Tyrion says. “Apparently we _are_ hitching a ride.”

“I’m not so sure —”

“I think that dragon is more sure than _you_ are,” Theon says, “so how about you get on it and see if we can join?”

Robb can’t help laughing as Jon _does_ , his lips strung in a thin line. He goes to sit on the dragon’s neck, holding his breath in case he gets kicked off.

The dragon _doesn’t_ kick him off and Jon tells them to just come and do the same, one at a time.

Robb takes a breath and follows him.

——

Turns out, flying on a dragon is nowhere near close to flying on a spaceship — for one it’s way less stable — but it’s not a bad experience. Jon looks like the person enjoying it less among all of them, but Robb figures he’ll adapt. They will _all_ have to.

And as he looks at the expanse of sleek skyscrapers covered in plants and flowers that have taken hold on them for centuries, he thinks, _maybe it’s not salvageable, but we can still live here, can’t we_?

Well.

They’ll find out, he supposes.

Very soon.

 

_Six months later_

 

“You know,” Theon says, “you could actually come down. It’s a _celebration_.”

Robb stands up from the piece of stone he had been sitting on as the orange-red sky slowly turns dark purple over his head. This one skyscraper isn’t just high, it’s actually large enough to host all of them, which is why they picked it for the six-month celebration of having arrived here — fine, it can’t hold two thousand people _at once_ , but it has a hundred floors and they managed to clean up and restore twenty of them, which is enough to make it work.

They still haven’t quite figured out if it’s possible to actually restart the electricity in the city, especially since it seems like the Valyrians were big on green energy and they could live with sunlight powering it if they figure out how it works, but Connington and his great-uncle are working on it — maybe they _will_ manage to have electricity restored to the entire city at once rather than having to restart each generator in each building. _Maybe_.

Anyway, even if it’s hardly ideal, it’s enough for now.

“I know,” he says, “I just — it feels weird. And the last time I celebrated anything I got the news that Lannister was about to nuke us, excuse me if I don’t feel too festive.”

“Robb, fuck’s sake, your damned brother sent me here because _he has to talk to you_ but he can’t exactly leave the premises when you’re not around and everyone comes to _him_ for questions.”

“They should come to _you_ , though,” Robb grins.

“Yeah, I don’t think most of your people actually ever liked me in that position anyway, but it’s fine. I only care for _your_ opinion,” he winks, and Robb decides that these six months have been good for him — he’s put on some healthy weight, he smiles more often while meaning it, and fine, maybe they also aren’t losing sleep anymore, and he’s also felt so much better since they started sharing a room and he doesn’t have to be at everyone’s beck and call anymore.

“My opinion is that I could have done with being in my own place with _you_ , but fine then. I’m getting down.”

He hears a screech from above. Right — Jon’s dragon is flying over their heads, and he can’t still wrap his head fully about how his brother somehow accidentally acquired a dragon that they all decided to name after Rhaegar Targaryen because after all it’s thanks to _him_ that they could find a place to live.

He’s fairly sure there must be more of them lurking around, but like _hell_ he’s planning on exploring the uninhabited areas of this place before they actually have restored the entirety of the city to their best possibilities and understood more about what went down here — from what Sam managed to find out from the local library, there might have been some kind of natural catastrophe most likely because of an asteroid that was too big for the planet to handle, but they still aren’t sure yet.

Whatever it was, it certainly _didn’t_ kill the dragons, but until they don’t decide to roast them alive, and they haven’t in six months so at this point he supposes they _won’t_ , he can just hope it was a one time thing.

“Flattered,” Theon says. “Maybe you can settle on letting people see you downstairs for a minimum amount of time _and_ then we can sneak out to your place?”

“ _Right_.” Robb moves closer, putting his hands on Theon’s waist. “I _think_ I can deal with that.”

He kisses Theon again, slow, taking his time, Theon’s hands grasping at his back, and when Theon moans into his mouth he swallows it greatly, and fuck, he thinks that maybe if he goes down on his knees they could make time before they have to go _down_ —

“I should have come on my own,” Jon groans from somewhere on their left, and they immediately break apart — shit, how long has it been?

“Uh, sorry?” Robb asks. “We got caught up.”

“I _saw_ that,” Jon shakes his head. “Anyway, _please_ get down before everyone starts asking _me_ who you are, but other than that — I figured I should tell you that Ygritte’s period has been late for three weeks.”

“What — _three_?”

“Yeah, and believe me, I know she never was late, so — well. We’ll ask Lannister to run tests soon, but — I figured you’d want to know. Just don’t spread news around in case, well.”

“Of — of course,” Robb says immediately. He wouldn’t want to get anyone’s hopes high, least of all _their_ own, but still —

“Well, I said my piece. Now come down already, I never liked doing PR and you were born for it.” He waves at them, then goes back downstairs.

Neither of them speaks for a long moment.

“Well,” Theon says, “if he’s right — hey, at worst if it’s a boy he can marry Lannister’s kid and they can start repopulating the planet.”

Robb can’t help it — he breaks down laughing, wiping tears from his eyes when he realizes that _he can’t stop it_. “Sure, my father would have _died_ at the prospect, but good thing I’m more flexible.”

“Oh, I can totally attest to _that_ ,” Theon grins, and Robb kisses him again, and _again_ , and fine, maybe it takes them another ten minutes to finally get down —

But if for the first time in years he’s not feeling like things might go sour at once, _well_ , he thinks he’s earned it.

Other people can wait for a while, and from the way Theon’s kissing him back, Robb is fairly sure he agrees.

 

 

End.


End file.
